ABbersouVille 

Violets 


(ollingu'oob 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


^ipylEU  OOtLi 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2009  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/andersonvillevioOOcoll 


Andersonville  Violets 


^  ^torg  of  Nottjern  antu  ^outjern  iLife 


BY 

HERBERT  W.  COLLINGWOOD 


B0ST0:N"  1889 
LEE    AND    SHEPARD    PUBLISHERS 

10  MILK  STREET  NEXT  "THE   OLD   SOUTH  MEETING  HOUSE" 

NEW  YORK  CHAS.  T.  DILLINGHAM 
718  AND  720  Broadway 


Copyright,  1888,  by  Lee  and  Shepard. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS. 


TO    THE    MEMORY    OF 

JHg  JHotfjer 

THIS  LITTLE  VOLUME  IS  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED. 


602778 


PREFACE. 


The  writer  has  long  felt  that  a  story  of  Northern 
and  Southern  life  might  be  written  that  would  pre- 
sent food  for  sound  and  healthful  thought,  unblinded 
by  partisan  feeling  or  sectional  hatred.  The  war  is 
over  forever.  It  can  never  be  fought  again.  We 
have  but  one  flag.  It  is  the  duty  of  all  patriotic 
citizens  to  lend  their  best  efforts  to  the  task  of 
looking  at  the  causes  of  the  war  and  its  results, 
fairly  and  intelligently.  A  story  of  Anderson ville 
prison,  told  by  a  soldier  in  the  Confederate  army, 
suggested  this  volume.  The  Northern  scenes  are 
taken  from  life.  The  pictures  of  Southern  life  are 
taken  from  personal  experience.  An  effort  has 
been  made  to  give  an  exact  report  of  the  state  of 
affairs  found  by  one  Northern  immigrant. 

Herbert  W.  Collingwood.    * 
EiVER  Edge,  New  Jersey. 


V 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  Jack  Foster's  Letter 1 

II.  The  Babes  in  the  Woods 9 

III.  The  Andersonville  Violets 18 

lY.  A  Plan  for  Escape 25 

Y.  Dishonorably  Discharged 35 

YI.  The  Escape 42 

YII.  Sol's  Yictory 53 

YIII.  The  Negro  Cabin 68 

IX.  Jack  Foster's  Welcome 76 

X.  Brother  Hill,  the  Preacher 88 

XI.  Breezetown's  Welcome 103 

XII.  After  the  War 122 

XIII.  A  Southern  Town 139 

XIY.  Colonel  Fair 153 

XY.  The  Man  at  the  Door 164 

XYI.  Run  to  Ruins 179 

XYII.  The  Germs  of  a  New  Manhood 199 

XYIII.  The  Andersonville  Sentinel 209 

XIX.  Bob  Glenn  wants  his  Pay 227 

XX.  Jack  Foster's  Trouble 239 

XXI.  The  Negro  Question 248 

XXII.  Aunt  Jinny's  Favorite  Story 254 

XXIII.  Faded  Flowers  of  Andersonville    ....  260 

vu 


ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 


CHAPTER   I. 

JACK  FOSTEE's   letter 

The  sun  came  sullenly  climbing  up  the  high 
Georgia  hills.  The  sky  had  heralded  a  pleasant 
morning,  but  the  angry  face  that  pushed  up  over  the 
hills  gave  the  lie  direct  to  its  joyful  proclamation. 
The  sun  came  slowly.  First  one  hand  reached  up 
among  the  stars  and  drew  a  long  streak  of  crim- 
son over  the  tops  of  the  hills.  Then  the  arm  slowly 
pushed  the  black  curtain  of  night  back  to  make  a 
place  for  the  scowling  face  that  followed. 

There  was  nothing  attractive  in  the  face  of  the 
country  upon  which  this  angry  gaze  was  bent.  Dry, 
rolling  sand  hills,  covered  with  thin  pine  forests, 
stretched  away  on  every  hand — wide  stretches  of 
dry  sand  and  old  fields  with  great  gashes  cut  in 
them.  Off  to  the  left  a  high  pine  stockade  ran 
around  the  ridge  of  a  small  valley.  The  logs  seemed 
to  push  sturdily  against  each  other — like  soldiers 
who  wait  an  oncoming  charge.  This  stockade  lay 
directly  in  the  path  of  the  sun  and  that  gloomy  in- 
dividual was  obliged  to  pass  over  it. 

The  sun  hung  back  with  all  its  might,  but  there 
was  no  help  for  it.     At  last  it  made  an  angry  start 

1 


22  ANDERSON  VILLE  VIOLETS 

and  darted  a  long  stream  of  light  over  the  dry  sand- 
hills and  thin  pines,  and  up  to  the  hateful  stockade. 
Jack  Foster  turned  on  his  beat  just  as  the  light 
splintered  against  the  logs.  Even  when  pushed 
thus  far  to  the  wall,  the  sun  seemed  to  rebel  a  little. 
Slowly  it  followed  its  advance  guard  up  past  the 
regular  mounds  in  the  hideous  graveyards,  past  the 
ugly  barracks  and  huts,  up  to  the  stockade  itself. 
Tliere  it  paused  as  if  to  cover  its  eyes  before  climb- 
ing the  rough  barrier  that  hid  so  much  of  horror. 
It  seemed  to  wait  for  extra  strength,  and  then,  of  a 
sudden,  it  sprang  to  the  top  as  if  to  flash  with  all  its 
speed  over  the  dreaded  space  and  up  the  convenient 
hills  beyond.  It  flashed  full  in  the  face  of  Jack 
Foster  as  he  walked  back  along  his  beat. 

Jack's  face  held  such  a  pleasant  expression  that 
the  sun  stopped  in  utter  surprise  to  examine  him. 
Jack  was  smiling  as  only  men  smile  who  are  greatly 
pleased.  The  sun  seemed  to  drop  its  ill  temper  for 
the  moment.  It  was  so  lost  in  wonder  to  think  of 
such  an  unheard-of  thing  that  it  halted  in  its  tracks 
as  if  to  assure  itself  that  the  smile  was  genuine. 
Jack's  face  bore  the  examination  well.  The  smile 
brightened  perceptibly  in  the  sunshine.  The  sun 
even  smiled  back  and  so  far  forgot  itself  as  to  take 
one  look  over  Jack's  shoulder.  The  sight  was 
enough  to  call  up  all  desire  to  escape,  and  it  flashed 
over  the  yard  and  hurried  on  the  wings  of  horror  up 
the  opposite  hills.  The  sky  before,  noticing  its  eager 
face,  blushed  with  pleasure  at  its  approach.  It 
glanced  back  only  once,  to  throw  a  bright  gleam  on 
the  barrel  of  Jack's  musket.     More  from  force  of 


JACK  Foster's  letter  3 

habit  than  because  he  was  harder  than  the  sun,  Jack 
glanced  down  into  the  yard.  He  looked  down  into 
—  Andersonville  1 

Andersonville !  What  a  dreadful  thrill  runs 
through  the  veins  at  the  word!  Who  has  not 
formed  some  horrible  picture  of  the  place  ?  What 
nameless  agony  the  four  walls  held  !  What  death 
in  life  was  locked  behind  the  heavy  gate  !  What 
noble  lives  oozed  away  in  that  pen  of  despair !  Jack 
saw  it  all  as  he  glanced  from  his  place.  Gaunt, 
hungry,  desperate  men,  with  all  the  better  feelings 
driven  from  them  by  suffering  and  disease  —  all  but 
one,  patriotism.  There  was  not  a  man  in  that 
frightful  pen  who  would  not  have  raised  his  feeble 
hand  to  cheer  at  a  sight  of  the  old  flag.  The  poor 
wretches  came  crawling  out  of  their  dens,  and 
ranged  themselves  on  the  little  hill  alongside  the 
ravine.  How  wistfully  they  watched  the  sun  slide 
away  to  the  western  hills  !  They  watched  all  in 
vain.  Not  for  them  that  path  leading  up  to  the 
crimson  sky.  They  could  only  sit  and  dream  that 
the  same  sun  looked  down  upon  the  friends  at 
home. 

Jack  Foster  did  not  smile  because  he  was  a  rebel 
and  these  dreadful  creatures  were  the  hated  Yan- 
kees. Far  from  it.  He  had  learned  to  respect  these 
Yankees  after  Gettysburg  and  Chancellorsville. 
They  were  brave  men,  he  knew  ;  and  at  Gettysburg 
a  Yankee  soldier  had  spared  Jack's  life  when  he 
might  easily  have  taken  it.  When  he  first  entered 
the  army,  he  might  have  rejoiced  at  this  dreadful 
picture,  but  three  years  of  fighting  had  taught  him  a 


4  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

certain  respect  for  his  foes.  He  had  been  pained  at 
first  at  the  sight  of  so  much  wretchedness,  but  he 
had  grown  accustomed  to  it  at  last.  He  could  not 
feel  a  very  earnest  sympathy  for  hungry  men  when 
his  own  rations  were  shortened  and  ofttimes  dropped 
entirely. 

There  was  nothing  about  the  dreadful  scene  that 
made  Jack  Foster  smile.  That  facial  change  was 
caused  by  something  entirely  foreign  to  the  surround- 
ings. The  cause  had  come  over  the  hills,  far  ahead 
of  the  sullen  sun,  from  the  world  outside,  where 
there  were  brightness  and  tenderness  and  kindly 
sympathy.  It  had  touched  the  springs  of  Jack's 
heart,  and  set  the  whole  machinery  of  his  face  in 
motion  to  manufacture  a  smile. 

Jack  held  this  wonderful  stimulant  in  his  hand, 
between  himself  and  the  prison,  as  he  walked  with 
the  sun  gleaming  on  his  musket.  It  is  easily  de- 
scribed. It  was  nothing  but  a  letter  from  Lucy 
Moore.  He  had  others  in  his  pocket.  Jack  carried 
these  valuable  documents  about  with  him  wherever 
he  went.  He  had  stitched  a  great  pocket  on  the 
inside  of  his  coat,  and  in  this  receptacle  the  whole 
correspondence  was  crowded.  There  were  two  of 
the  letters  —  the  best  of  them  all,  too — one  written 
just  after  Fredericksburg,  and  the  other  at  the  time 
when  McClellan  was  driven  back  from  his  position 
before  Richmond — that  were  so  badly  worn  that 
handling  them  was  a  somewhat  serious  business. 
But  their  very  use  had  saved  them.  Jack  had  read 
them  so  many  times  that  he  now  knew  them  by  heart. 
He  had  made  it  a  habit  to  say  thera  over  to  himself 


JACK  Foster's  letter  5 

time  after  time  when  he  felt  that  he  needed  some 
great  inspiration  to  nerve  him  on. 

On  that  fearful  third  day  at  Gettysburg,  when  the 
lines  moved  out  from  under  the  trees,  some  of  the 
boys  noticed  Jack  reading  his  letters.  There  were 
some  that  smiled  at  him,  but  yet  there  were  many 
that  felt,  at  the  sight,  for  a  little  package  under  the 
breast  of  the  coat.  Jack  came  sullenly  back  out  of 
the  fight,  but  many  of  the  soldiers  who  smiled  at 
him  lay  cold  and  still  out  in  the  valley,  with  letters 
that  never  could  be  answered. 

Jack  had  selected  for  his  morning's  reading  a  let- 
ter written  by  Lucy  just  as  the  army  stopped  to  draw 
itself  together  after  the  dreary  retreat  from  Pennsyl- 
vania. That  was  the  time  when  men  needed  all  the 
brave  words  and  tender  consolation  that  women 
could  give  them.  The  soldiers  knew  well  enough 
when  Lee  reeled  back  for  the  last  time  that  the  life 
of  the  Confederacy  was  doomed.  There  was  no 
thought  of  giving  up  the  fight,  however.  They 
called  Gettysburg  a  "  drawn  battle,"  and  every  man 
set  his  teeth  hard  and  made  a  vow  that  the  cause 
should  go  down  in  glory. 

This  obstinate  feeling  had  been  intensified  all 
through  the  dismal  retreat.  The  men  who  toiled 
back  to  Maryland,  through  the  mud  and  wet,  listen- 
ing to  the  groans  of  the  wounded,  and  thinking  of 
the  dead  men  lying  on  the  battle-fields  behind  them, 
of  the  women  waiting  with  white  faces  in  the  lonely 
Southern  towns,  reformed  themselves,  when  next 
they  reached  Southern  soil,  into  a  desperate  band, 
armed   with   the   courage  of   despair.     The  women 


6  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

watching  at  home,  in  the  lonely  towns,  held  their 
friends  at  the  front  with  letters  of  grim  determina* 
tion.  Lucy  had  written  Jack  a  letter  that  well  ex- 
pressed the  feeling  among  Southern  women  at  that 
day.  They  begged  their  friends  to  fight  on.  Tlie 
letter  had  done  Jack  good  at  a  time  when  he  needed 
help.  It  had  nerved  him  on  to  the  bitter  death 
struggle.  There  was  one  sentence  that  he  was  never 
tired  of  reading  over. 

"  No  matter  what  may  happen  —  if  you  are  only 
true^  I  will  love  you  forever." 

The  word  "  true  "  was  underscored,  and  Jack  made 
his  own  estimate  as  to  its  meaning.  It  was  the  one 
great  idea  for  which  men  were  dying,  and  women 
were  suffering,  that  he  must  hold  true  —  the  mis- 
taken idea  of  Southern  independence. 

Jack's  thoughts  went  back  over  the  hills,  as  he 
marched  slowly  along  with  the  letter  in  his  hand. 
He  did  not  look  at  the  letter ;  he  did  not  need  to  do 
so.  He  thought  it  over,  as  his  eyes  swept  back  over 
the  bleak  hills,  still  gilded  with  the  radiance  the  sun 
could  not  help  leaving.  His  musket  fell  loosely  at 
his  shoulder  and  he  forgot  the  scehe  of  misery  so 
close  at  his  side. 

Over  the  hills,  far  away  in  that  quiet  Mississippi 
town,  his  dear  little  girl  was  thinking  of  him  at  this 
very  moment.  He  could  see  her  as  she  stood  under 
the  trees,  looking  sadly  down  the  long  street  where 
he  had  marched  so  bravely  away.  Jack  had  often 
pictured  her  as  she  stood  that  morning  when  he 
marched  down  that  beautiful  street.  He  could  tell 
just  what  she  wore  that  day,  even  to  the  color  of  the 


JACK  FOSTER  S   LETTER  7 

ribbon  in  her  hair.  A  mist  had  gathered  before  the 
honest  fellow's  eyes  as  he  turned  for  a  last  look,  and 
an  ugly  lump  had  risen  in  his  throat.  Jack  could 
not  understand  why  it  was  that  he  remembered 
everything  so  well.  It  is  strange  how  the  image  of 
those  we  love,  when  viewed  through  the  magnifying 
dew  of  tears,  can  never  be  put  from  sight,  but  will 
grow  in  distinctness  as  the  years  go  by. 

Who  could  help  being  true  when  such  a  dear  little 
girl  smiled  through  her  tears  ?  Who  would  not  walk 
into  death's  door  with  a  smile  at  the  wish  of  such  a 
woman  ?  So  at  least  honest  Jack  asked,  and  he 
grasped  his  musket  more  firmly  as  he  thought  of  the 
danger  he  would  gladly  go  through  to  add  one  ray  of 
pleasure  to  the  light  in  Lucy's  eye. 

It  is  a  fact  that  such  letters  and  such  thoughts  do 
not  mean  business  after  all.  They  add  to  the  enthu- 
siasm of  a  campaign  somewhat,  but  when  allowed 
their  own  way,  they  interfere  with  military  discipline 
considerably. 

It  is  a  good  plan  to  allow  soldiers  to  read  over 
their  letters  just  before  the  bugle  sounds  a  charge. 
The  army  will  be  doubled  then,  for  with  every 
soldier  that  rushes  into  the  fight,  the  inspiration  of  a 
wife,  a  mother,  or  a  sweetheart  will  go.  A  woman's 
smile  —  so  tender  in  love,  so  terrible  in  hate — will 
add  a  brighter  gleam  to  each  flashing  bayonet.  When 
any  intricate  evolutions  or  any  sober,  earnest  work 
are  needed  it  may  be  well  to  keep  the  letters  in  the 
pocket. 

Jack  knew  that  he  never  could  carry  that  letter  in 
his  hand,  and,  at  the  same  time,  hold  his  gun  in  exact 


8  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

position  and  keep  the  military  step,  so  with  a  final 
reading  he  thrust  the  precious  document  into  his 
pocket  and  straightened  himself  into  a  better  posi- 
tion. He  walked  along  slowly  repeating,  "  no  matter 
what  may  happen,  if  you  will  only  be  true  I  will  love 
you  forever."  There  was  so  much  consolation  in 
this  thought — the  fact  of  his  failing  to  be  "true" 
being  so  far  out  of  the  question,  that  Jack  smiled 
again  and  glanced  once  more  into  the  yard.  He  did 
not  take  his  eyes  away  at  once,  for  there  was  some- 
thing there  to  interest  him. 

The  "  Babes  in  the  Woods  "  had  come  out  of  their 
place  into  the  sun.  They  were  almost  within  a 
stone's  throw  of  Jack's  beat.  The  little  one  was 
lying  on  the  ground  with  the  big  one  sitting  beside 
him.  Jack  had  seen  them  in  this  position  many 
times  before. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  BABES   IN   THE   WOODS 

Babes  in  the  woods  !  It  was  the  only  name 
Jack  and  the  rest  had  for  them.  John  Rockwell  and 
Archie  Sinclair,  — th  Maine  Regiment,  was  the 
entry  on  the  books,  but  the  guards  had  never  taken 
the  trouble  to  find  out  their  real  names.  When  men 
once  entered  that  pen  of  misery  it  needed  some 
striking  characteristic  to  single  them  out  from  the 
rest. 

The  name  was  somewhat  appropriate  in  Archie's 
case,  but  great,  raw-boned  John  Rockwell  was  any- 
thing but  an  infant.  Archie  was  a  little,  delicate 
fellow,  with  golden  hair,  and  a  face  like  a  girl's. 
Poor  little  man  !  He  marched  bravely  away  from 
the  quiet  Maine  town,  bravely  and  willingly,  little 
thinking  of  the  dreadful  heat  and  agony  of  Ander- 
sonville.  Life  was  full  of  promise,  full  of  hope,  when 
he  kissed  his  mother  and  sister  good-by.  That  was 
the  time  when  the  "  On  to  Richmond  "  order  seemed 
easy  of  execution.  The  army  did,  at  last,  go  "  on  to 
Richmond,"  but  it  was  over  a  weary  and  bloody 
road,  covered  with  the  dead  bodies  of  those  who 
failed  at  first.  The  little  man  had  gone  through 
many  a  hard  fight  without  flinching,  but  the  dis- 
grace of  captivity   had  weighed  heavily  upon  him, 


10  ANDERSON VILLE  VIOLETS 

and  when  at  last  he  marched  with  the  rest  through 
the  prison  gate  it  was  in  the  arras  of  stout  John 
Rockwell.  The  slender  form  had  drooped,  and  clung 
for  support  to  the  strong,  rough,  tender-hearted  man 
Avho  had  seemed  so  like  a  brother  to  him. 

Archie  had  not  noticed,  when  the  company  went 
out  under  the  great  elms  of  old  Breezetown,  how 
wistfully  John  had  glanced  at  sister  Nellie.  He  did 
not  know  till  long  after  that  sad  morning  what  a 
load  John  carried  under  his  bright,  new  uniform. 
Nellie's  "No"  had  crushed  all  the  sunshine  out  of 
John's  heart.  Poor,  awkward,  blundering  John. 
There  was  no  one  in  the  village  to  weep  over  him, 
or  give  him  the  strong  hand-clasp  or  the  smile  that 
reaches  to  the  heart.  He  had  gone  to  the  war 
almost  alone. 

Who  can  tell  what  the  poor  fellow  thought  as  he 
went  mechanically  through  his  round  of  duty?  The 
boys  called  him  odd,  and  made  him  the  butt  of  the 
whole  company.  Every  old  trick  was  played  off  on 
honest  John,  yet  he  never  once  complained  so  long 
as  Archie  was  amused.  The  boys  would  all  laugli  at 
John  when  the  mail  came  in,  and  the  whole  army 
sat  down  to  read  the  home  letters. 

"  She  don't  seem  to  write  to  ye,  John !  AVho's 
run  off  with  yer  girl,  John?  Better  go  back  an'  see 
how  things  is." 

Such  remarks  would  always  drive  John  away  from 
the  liappy  group,  for  he  never  got  a  letter.  He 
alone,  of  all  the  army,  seemed  to  have  no  friends  at 
home.  John  liked  to  sit  at  one  side  —  out  in  the 
shadow  —  and  watch  Archie  as  he   read  the  home 


THE   BABES   IN   THE   WOODS  11 

letters.  He  knew  they  always  contained  a  line  from 
Nellie,  and  he  often  saw  a  letter  in  her  own  hand- 
writing. He  could  sit  there  and  imagine  what  she 
wrote  to  her  brother. 

Archie  was  just  like  her  —  so  John  thought  as  he 
watched  from  the  shadow.  Small  and  slender,  with 
blue  eyes  and  hair  like  gold.  John  had  worshipped 
her  for  years.  He  was  only  the  "  Widder  Rockwell's 
boy,"  yet  he  had  the  heart  of  a  nobleman.  Many  a 
day  he  had  paused  in  his  work  to  see  her  trip  by  like 
a  little  sunbeam.  His  love  had  been  his  one  great 
secret  and  his  religion.  The  thoughts  she  had  in- 
spired kept  his  mind  pure,  and  brought  him  safely 
through  a  life  filled  with  such  temptations  that  thou- 
sands would  have  fallen. 

When  his  mother  died,  John  was  left  alone  with 
nothing  but  his  strength,  his  love  for  Nellie,  and  the 
well  earned  title  of  "  Honest  John."  The  war  broke 
out,  and  all  over  the  country  thousands  of  young 
men  rushed  to  arms.  The  great  enthusiasm  put 
souls  into  men  who  had  seemed  dull  and  stupid 
before.  The  whole  village  was  ablaze  with  patriot- 
ism ;  all  business  was  neglected.  John  saw  Nellie 
at  the  "sewing  circle,"  making  a  flag  for  the  com- 
pany to  carry  away.  He  put  his  name  on  the  list  of 
volunteers  without  a  moment's  thought.  Then,  the 
mighty  spirit  of  patriotism  giving  him  a  wild  cour- 
age, he  spoke  the  words  that  the  long  years  of  wait- 
ing had  told  him  were  true. 

Nellie  laughed  at  first  —  how  could  she  help  it  ? 
This  great  blundering  fellow  who  had  always  seemed 
so  awkward.     And  yet  in  a  moment  she  pitied  him 


12  ANDERSON VILLE  VIOLETS 

—  this  strong  man  who  was  to  face  death  at  her 
brother's  side.  She  knew  he  was  sincere  —  he 
offered  her  all  he  had.  She  told  him  at  last,  very 
gently,  that  she  could  not  love  him.  He  went  away 
from  her  with  a  love  stronger  than  ever.  He  knew 
that  it  was  a  hopeless  love,  and  yet  he  could  not  help  it. 

He  would  sit  and  think  this  all  over,  as  he  watched 
Archie  read  the  letters.  Archie  seemed  to  John  to 
care  very  little  about  these  precious  documents. 
Every  now  and  then  the  old  letters  would  be  torn  up 
and  thrown  away.  John  found,  one  day,  a  piece  of 
an  old  letter  from  Nellie,  with  the  words  "I  love 
you  "  written  on  it.  It  was  only  part  of  a  long  sen- 
tence ;  he  could  not  tell  how  the  words  were  used, 
but  he  sewed  the  little  scrap  on  the  inside  of  his 
vest.  There  it  remained  for  many  a  day,  and  his 
heart  grew  very  tender  whenever  he  thought  of  it. 

One  day  Archie  met  John  alone. 

"  John,"  he  said,  "  I've  got  a  message  for  you. 
Nell  sends  her  regards." 

John  blushed  with  pleasure,  and  stammered  out 
his  thanks.  It  was  the  first  message  he  had  ever 
received  from  a  3"0ung  lady.  It  seemed  to  him  after 
this  that  Archie  had  been  left  in  his  special  care. 
He  watched  over  the  slender  boy  as  carefully  as  a 
mother  would  have  done.  Perhaps  Nellie  would 
write  and  thank  him  for  it.  There  were  many  things 
that  he  could  do  to  help  the  little  man.  He  was 
tireless  while  there  was  a  chance  to  win  a  word  of 
thanks  from  the  woman  he  loved.  One  message 
such  as  she  sent  before  would  have  well  repaid  him 
for  all  his  extra  work. 


THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOODS  13 

A  strange  intimacy  sprang  up  by  degrees  between 
the  two  men ;  strange  because  they  had  hitherto 
lived  such  widely  different  lives.  Archie  learned  to 
lean  upon  his  strong  companion,  to  trust  him  with 
all  his  troubles,  and  to  go  to  him  for  advice.  He 
came  to  hold  a  great  respect  for  John's  great  strong 
blocks  of  advice,  rough-hewn  and  honest  as  himself, 
—  chipped  from  a  tough  and  bitter  experience. 

John  almost  worshipped  his  little  companion. 
Archie  grew  to  look  more  and  more  like  Nellie.  He 
had  the  same  gentleness.  He  made  a  poor  soldier, 
for  he  pitied  his  enemies. 

Just  before  Chancellorsville,  where  they  were  capt- 
ured, John  had  told  Archie  the  great  secret.  He 
never  would  have  spoken  of  it  had  not  his  little 
companion  drawn  it  from  him.  The  great  compan- 
ionship of  danger  had  taught  Archie  to  respect  and 
love  "  Honest  John."  He  wrote  Nellie  a  long  letter, 
painting  with  boyish  enthusiasm  John's  good  quali- 
ties, and  asking  her,  for  her  brother's  sake,  to  give 
one  word  of  encouragement.  John  never  knew 
till  the  hideous  mouth  of  Andersonville  yawned 
upon  them  that  this  letter  had  ever  been  sent. 
Archie  and  he  were  swept  out  of  the  army  at 
Chancellorsville,  and  left  behind  when  the  gray 
wave  went  rolling  forward  into   Pennsylvania. 

It  was  a  sad  and  bitter  journey  the  prisoners 
made,  with  heads  hung  in  shame,  and  idle,  weapon- 
less hands,  toward  the  South.  A  dreadful,  heart- 
breaking journey.  Defeat  behind  them  and  hopeless 
captivity  before,  with  the  dreadful  stories  of  cruelty 
magnified    a    thousand    times,   and    the    sickening 


14  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

thought  that  those  at  home  were  mourning  their 
fate.  The  only  news  they  could  hear  was  the 
joyfully  repeated  cry  that  Lee  was  marching  on 
through  Pennsylvania,  sure  to  pass  the  winter  in. 
Philadelphia,  and  thus  cut  the  land  of  the  Yankees 
in  two. 

The  Southern  people  really  believed  that  the  turn- 
ing-point of  the  war  had  come.  So  it  had,  in  fact, 
but  it  turned  as  they  little  expected.  Chancellors- 
Yille  seemed  to  them  like  Waterloo,  and  Lee  was 
like  Wellington  marching  on  Paris.  People  turned 
out  at  all  the  little  villages  to  see  the  Yankee  pris- 
oners. How  they  hated  the  blue  uniform.  It  was 
but  natural  that  they  should  hate  it.  The  Northern 
men  had  come  among  them  as  rough  soldiers,  with 
all  the  better  feelings  in  them  blunted  by  years  of 
rude  life  and  cruel  warfare.  How  were  the  women 
to  know  that  these  stern,  dusty  men,  who  fought  so 
savagely  and  burned  the  pleasant  homes  so  cruell}^ 
had  wives  and  children  of  their  own  at  home  ?  The 
prisoners  seemed  to  the  great  mass  of  Southern  peo- 
ple like  so  many  captured  tigers.  They  were  glad 
the  creatures  had  been  caught.  They  were  glad  to 
see  them  hurried  on  through  the  dust  and  the  heat 
to  the  horrible  prisons. 

Many  of  the  women,  with  sons  of  their  own  at  the 
front,  pitied  Archie.  He  had  been  hurt  in  the  battle, 
and  he  grew  weak  as  the  rough  journey  went  on. 
The  people  did  not  taunt  him  as  they  did  the  others. 
At  one  place  a  little  girl  ran  out  from  the  crowd 
and  handed  him  a  cup  of  water.  A  woman  dressed 
in  the  deepest  mourning  had  sent  the  little  thing  on 


THE   BABES   IN   THE   WOODS  15 

this  errand  of  mercy.  Archie  and  John  never  knew 
who  she  was.  She  may  have  been  a  Union  woman, 
or  some  Southern  mother  whose  dead  son  seemed  to 
look  out  of  Archie's  eyes. 

The  prisoners  were  kept  for  a  time  at  a  small 
place  in  South  Carolina,  but  when  Sherman  beg-an 
to  threaten  Georgia  they  were  moved  to  Anderson- 
ville.  The  Southern  leaders  probably  desired  to 
locate  their  prison  in  some  healthy  spot  where  the 
prisoners  would  be  safe  from  attack.  The  rude 
chances  of  war  crowded  so  many  into  the  stock- 
ade that  it  became  a  perfect  den  of  disease. 

Poor  little  Archie  grew  weaker  and  weaker.  John 
helped  him  on,  divided  his  rations,  and  talked  about 
Nellie.  Archie's  strength  gave  out  at  last,  and, 
when  he  staggered  up  the  sand  hills  and  looked 
down  upon  his  terrible  destination,  it  was  nothing 
but  John's  strong  arm  that  held  him  on  his  feet. 
They  marched  down  the  hill  to  the  gate.  Archie 
would  have  fallen  as  they  entered  had  not  John 
caught  him  in  his  arms  from  the  ground.  There 
w^as  no  halt  for  that  forlorn  column,  and  so,  keeping 
step  with  the  rest,  they  marched  in  through  the 
gates  of  death  together  —  Archie  in  John's  arms. 
The  guards  noted  them,  and  gave  them  the  name 
at  once,  "  Babes  in  the  Woods  ! " 

No  man  can  tell  what  these  two  suffered  through 
these  awful  days.  Archie  grew  weaker  and  weaker. 
His  strength  passed  away  from  him  slowly,  and  he 
came  to  look  like  a  golden-haired  ghost.  John  grew 
gaunt  and  desperate  as  he  realized  Archie's  condi- 
tion.     He   divided   his   rations  with   his    comrade, 


16  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

and  even  sold  both  allowances  in  order  to  secure 
some  little  dainty  for  his  weak  companion.  The 
most  inoffensive  of  men  before,  he  grew  surly  and 
desperate  when  Archie  was  hungry.  He  fought 
many  a  fierce  battle  with  other  prisoners  for  the 
possession  of  the  scanty  food.  He  lost  his  former 
title,  and  was  now  known  as  "Fighting  John."  It 
was  not  the  famine  and  the  disease  that  changed 
him,  but  the  desire  to  do  something  that  should 
make  him  worthier  in  the  eyes  of  Nellie. 

Day  after  day  they  lived  on  —  through  the  dreary, 
rainy  season,  when  the  dreadful  fever  leaped  over 
the  stockade  and  laid  its  hot  hands  upon  them, 
through  the  broiling  days  when  they  could  only 
gasp  for  breath.  It  was  a  close  contest  with  death 
for  Archie,  but  still  he  lived  on.  John  knew  too 
well  that  his  friend  was  dying.  He  carried  him 
tenderly  about,  thinking  and  talking  of  the  little 
girl  at  home.  There  was  hardly  a  moment  that  he 
left  the  sick  man's  side.  On  pleasant  days  he  car- 
ried Archie  out  of  their  dug-out,  and  laid  him  ten- 
derly on  the  sand.  There  they  would  sit  for  hours 
and  talk.  They  could  remember  so  many  things 
about  the  home  folks  now  that  had  been  crushed 
from  memory  before.  Poor  Archie  really  expected 
to  recover.  He  made  plans  for  the  people  at  home. 
John  knew  better.  He  knew  that  the  prison  gates 
would  only  open  for  Archie's  dead  body.  Their 
talk  was  always  sure  to  centre  upon  Nellie.  They 
were  like  "babes"  surely  when  they  reached  this 
subject. 

They  were  speaking  of  her,  in  fact,  when  Jack 


THE  BABES   IN   THE   WOODS  17 

Foster  turned  on  his  beat  and  looked  down  into  the 
yard.  Archie  lay  on  the  ground,  with  John's  coat 
for  a  pillow.  John  sat  at  his  side,  pointing  with  his 
hand  in  the  direction  of  the  place  where  Jack  was 
walking.  He  spoke  so  earnestly  that  Archie  raised 
himself  slightly  and  looked  in  the  same  direction. 
The  sight  evidently  pleased  him  greatly,  for  he 
smiled  and  said  something  that  caused  John  to 
turn  and  look  squarely  at  the  sentinel. 

Jack  could  not  hear  any  of  the  conversation,  but 
his  eyes  followed  the  motion  of  the  "little  babe's" 
hand.  The  cause  of  the  dialogue  surprised  him 
at  first,  and  3^et  he  could  not  help  appreciating  it. 
Down  in  the  ground,  just  below  where  he  was  walk- 
ing, grew  a  great  bunch  of  violets.  They  were 
beautiful  —  the  only  flowers  he  had  seen  in  the 
yard.  Perhaps  some  brave  angel  had  brought 
them,  with  averted  face,  up  to  the  stockade,  and 
then  turned  back  in  horror  at  the  wretched  picture 
of  despair.  Jack  had  never  noticed  them  before. 
They  were  just  inside  the  dead  line  —  far  removed 
indeed  from  the  two  "  babes,"  for  to  cross  that  line 
meant  death. 

Jack  gave  the  flowers  but  a  moment's  thought. 
There  were  sterner  and  pleasanter  duties  for  him. 
He  marched  slowly  on,  thinking  of  his  letters. 
Down  in  the  prison  the  two  "babes"  still  sat  dis- 
cussing the  violets. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

Poor  Archie  talked  qneerly  that  morning,  when 
John  brought  him  out  into  the  yard.  Happily  for 
him,  his  mind  had  wandered  out  of  the  prison.  He 
talked  about  the  Maine  home,  the  woods,  and  all  the 
old  scenes,  till  John  felt  sick  at  heart.  What  a 
dreadful  mockery  it  all  was !  The  horrible  place 
filled  with  these  desperate  men,  and  this  weak  boy 
babbling  wildly  of  the  old  scenes  they  both  knew  so 
well. 

''And  there's  Nell,"  whispered  Archie  at  last. 
Poor  fellow,  his  voice  was  almost  gone.  "  She's 
going  with  us,  John.  Ain't  you  glad?  I  know  you 
are,  for  I  remember  what  you  told  me.  Come  on, 
Nell.  We  can  eat  our  dinner  down  by  the  old  rock, 
and  we'll  make  John  pick  the  flowers  for  your  wed- 
ding. 

"  What  flowers  shall  we  bring  her,  John  ?  Violets, 
I  say.  You  go  and  pick  them,  John,  while  I  stay 
here  and  talk  to  her.  I'll  tell  her  all  about  the  war 
—  all  we  have  been  through  ;  then  I'll  tell  how  much 
you  love  her,  and  she  can't  help  saying  'yes,'  for 
we  have  been  such  chums,  you  know.  It  will  be  all 
right,  I'm  sure,  John.  You  go  and  get  the  flowers 
and  let  me  talk  to  her  alone." 

John  tried  to  turn  Archie's  mind  away  from  the 
18 


THE  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS  19 

flowers.  He  had  pointed  them  out  some  time  before, 
little  dreaming  that  Archie  would  insist  upon  his 
getting  them.  To  the  fevered  mind  of  the  little  man 
they  seemed  to  be  growing  in  the  meadow  at  home. 
Archie  did  not  know  when  he  urged  John  to  get 
them  of  the  fatal  dead  line  that  held  the  flowers  fur- 
ther away  than  the  old  home  could  be. 

"Never  mind  about  it  now,  Archie,"  John  said. 
"  Let's  talk  about  the  old  times  a  little  first,  and  then 
I'll  get  'em.  There's  no  hurry,  you  know,  for  we 
have  all  day  before  us.  Look  at  the  sun  over  on  the 
hills  there." 

Archie  lay  without  speaking  for  a  little  while.  He 
watched  the  sun,  far  away  now  over  the  hills.  The 
hills  were  bright  with  splendor,  and  it  seemed  to 
Archie's  fevered  mind  like  the  opening  of  the  gates 
of  Paradise.  The  great  hills  seemed  changed  to  a 
stair  of  gold.  The  opening  of  the  gate  was  nearer  to 
Archie  than  he  thought.  He  lay  and  watched  the 
sun  till  a  cloud  passed  over  the  golden  hills  and 
closed  for  the  moment  the  glorious  gate.  Then  he 
turned  back  to  the  flowers. 

"  Come,  John,  why  don't  you  go  ?  "  he  whispered 
fretfully.  "  Now  is  your  time.  You  said  you  loved 
her  once,  and  now  you  are  not  ready  to  pick  her  a 
few  flowers.  Run,  John,  or  I  will  never  tell  her  what 
you  want  me  to.  You  said  you  loved  her  once,  now 
why  don't  you  go  ?  " 

John  never  faltered  for  an  instant.  He  knew  well 
that  to  cross  that  line  meant  death,  yet  he  never 
thought  once  of  holding  back  when  Archie  said  — 
*'you  said  you  loved  her  once.'* 


20  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

He  did  not  mean  that  Archie  should  see  him  make 
the  sacrifice.  He  bent  down  and  raised  the  ''little 
babe "  gently  from  the  ground.  How  light  the 
burden  was. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  it's  getting  hot  here.  I'll  carry 
you  back  into  the  shade,  and  then  I'll  get  the  flowers 
for  Nellie." 

"  All  right,  John,  but  hurry  up  ;  for  Nellie  can't  stay 
long,  you  know,  and  this  will  be  the  last  chance  for 
you  to  show  how  well  you  love  her.  I  think  she  will 
understand  it,  John,  when  you  bring  the  flowers." 

John  carried  him  back  and  laid  him  under  the 
shade  of  the  bank  of  earth  they  had  raised. 

"  Don't  be  long,  John,"  said  Archie,  as  the  "  big 
babe,"  with  a  most  babyish  moisture  about  his  eyes, 
shook  the  little  fellow's  hand  and  started  back  to  go 
through  the  test.  "  I'll  talk  to  her  about  it  while 
you  are  gone,  John  —  never  fear  for  me  — she  will  do 
anything  for  me.  Good-by.  I  will  be  telling  her 
all  the  time." 

And  perhaps  he  was  "  telling  her "  while  John 
Rockwell  walked  deliberately  back  to  the  dead  line. 

Jack  Foster  had  watched  the  whole  proceeding 
from  his  place  on  the  stockade.  Men  in  possession 
of  such  an  amount  of  imaginative  literature  as  he 
carried  are  apt  to  put  a  sentimental  rather  than  a 
business-like  interpretation  upon  such  actions.  We 
judge  men's  actions  by  imagining  what  we  would  do 
under  similar  circumstances.  The  frame  of  mind 
in  which  we  find  ourselves  regulates  our  judgment. 

The  "  little  babe  "  pointing  to  the  violets  made 
Jack  somehow  think  of  the  times  when  Lucy  and  he 


THE   ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS  21 

had  placed  such  a  value  upon  just  such  little  flowers. 
In  fact,  he  carried,  in  one  of  his  letters,  two  dried 
violets  that  seemed  of  more  value  to  him  than  all  the 
remaining  vegetation  of  the  country.  Jack  could 
not  help  imagining  some  of  the  feelings  of  the  "  little 
babe." 

Here  was  a  little  fellow  shut  up  in  this  dreadful 
place,  dying,  it  may  be,  longing  for  the  sweet 
breath  of  these  simple  little  flowers  so  near  liim. 
Perhaps  he  had  a  sweetheart  of  his  own  soaiewhere 
far  away  in  that  cold  Yankee  country.  No  doubt  he 
loved  her  in  his  queer  Yankee  fashion  almost  as  well 
as  he  loved  his  little  girl. 

Jack  ran  it  all  over  in  his  mind  as  he  glanced  at 
the  two  men  in  the  yard.  What  would  he  do  in 
such  a  case  ?  It  seemed  to  him  from  the  way  the 
"  big  babe  "  looked  when  he  picked  the  little  one 
from  the  ground  that  he  was  desperate  enough  to 
dash  over  the  line.  Somehow,  Jack  rather  expected 
him  to  do  it.  He  knew  well  that  he  would  have 
gone  himself.  What  could  he  do  if  the  attempt  was 
made  ?  Could  he  shoot  this  man  for  proving  himself 
a  hero  ?  Could  he  disobey  orders  and  risk  the  pen- 
alty ?  He  was  in  a  place  of  trust.  Let  the  pris- 
oners once  rush  over  that  line,  and  the  small  guard 
could  never  keep  them  back.  He  must  obey  orders, 
and  shoot  the  "  big  babe  "  if  he  should  make  a 
dash  for  the  violets,  as  Jack  seemed  to  know  he 
would  do. 

John  Rockwell  left  Archie  in  the  shade,  and  then 
walked  slowly  and  grimly  back  to  the  place  where 
they  had  been  sitting.     He  did  not  pause  here,  but 


22  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

walked  savagely  on  to  the   line.     He   looked   des- 
perate indeed  as  Jack  glanced  down  at  him. 

Thin  and  gaunt,  with  famine-eaten  flesh,  and  thin, 
bony  hands  held  out  before  him,  he  walked  savagely 
on,  looking  directly  at  Jack.  His  face  told,  by  the 
long,  deep  lines  pinched  into  it,  of  the  two  lives  he 
had  supported  so  long.  His  eyes  peered  out  from 
two  deep  caverns  under  the  broken  visor  of  his  army 
cap,  which  hung  down  over  his  forehead.  His  long 
hair  fell  about  his  face  in  wild  disorder,  and  an  un- 
kempt beard  thrust  itself  fiercely  out  from  about  his 
mouth.  It  was  a  face  that  Jack  Foster  never  could 
drive  from  his  mind.  The  blue  uniform  was  torn, 
and  hung  in  tatters  about  the  gaunt  prisoner.  One 
sleeve  was  gone,  the  wasted  muscles  of  the  arm 
sliowiug  through  the  rent.  One  bony  knee  was 
brought  into  view  at  every  stride.  A  desperate  man 
the  Yankee  stood  before  the  rebel  to  show,  by  giving 
his  life  if  necessary,  that  not  even  the  fevered  imagi- 
nation of  a  dying  man  should  question  his  love. 
The  other  prisoners  in  the  3^ard  watched  him.  They 
crowded  behind,  at  a  short  distance,  to  see  what  he 
would  do.  No  one  seemed  to  know  his  mission. 
All  waited  in  silence.  Desperately,  like  a  man  who 
has  fought  too  long  with  death  to  fear  it,  the  "  big 
babe "  walked  up  to  the  line.  Jack  paced  slowly 
on.  He  brought  his  musket  into  position  as  the 
man  advanced.  No  one  saw  it  but  liimself,  but,  as 
he  raised  his  gun,  across  his  vision  came  the  figure  of 
his  little  girl  —  Lucy  standing  before  the  desperate 
Yankee.  She  put  up  her  hand  as  if  to  motion  him 
back.     Her  lip  was  trembling  just  as  it  did  when  he 


THE  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS  23 

bade  her  good-by,  and  her  eyes  were  beaming  on  him 
as  they  never  had  done  before.  The  sentence  in  the 
letter  he  had  been  reading  flashed  tlirough  his  mind. 
"No  matter  what  may  happen,  if  you  will  only  be 
true,  I  will  love  you  forever." 

This  was  what  she  meant  then.  He  must  be  true 
to  himself.  He  dropped  the  point  of  his  musket,  and 
stopped  for  a  moment  in  his  walk.  He  fully  realized 
what  he  was  doing,  but  that  face  and  figure  were  too 
dear  to  him. 

John  Rockwell  came  to  the  dead  line  and  stood 
looking  at  Jack.  *'  Rebel,"  he  said,  in  a  thick, 
hoarse  voice,  "I  must  get  them  flowers." 

No  one  but  "  Honest  John  "  would  ever  have 
thought  of  speaking  at  all.  The  guards  had  orders 
to  shoot  down  all  piisoners  that  spoke  to  them.  It 
was  here  that  Jack  raised  his  musket,  while  the 
guard  below  him  stopped  to  watch. 

"I  want  them  flowers.  There's  a  young  boy  here 
dyin'.     Let  me  get  'em  for  him,  rebel." 

He  saw  the  musket  lower,  and,  with  one  wild  spring, 
he  dashed  over  the  line  and  dropped  on  his  knees 
beside  the  violets.  Jack  never  raised  his  musket, 
but  the  guard  below  him  brought  up  his  gun  as 
John  sprang  back  over  the  line  with  tlie  flowers  in  his 
hand.  The  guard  fired,  and  John  fell  over  the  line 
with  a  bullet  scratch  on  his  leg.  The  prisoners,  at 
the  report,  hurried  for  shelter  into  the  holes  or 
behind  the  banks.  Some  of  them  peered  out  through 
the  openings  to  see  what  would  be  done.  Jack 
brought  his  musket  mechanically  to  his  shoulder  and 
started  back  along  his  beat.  He  well  knew  what 
would  follow. 


24  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

The  "big  babe"  lay  for  a  moment  on  the  sand. 
He  tried  to  rise  to  his  feet,  but  his  leg  seemed  numb, 
and  gave  way  beneath  him.  After  a  little  he 
crawled  slowly  and  painfully  back  to  the  bank 
where  Archie  was  waiting.  He  carried  the  flowers 
in  his  mouth.  He  crawled  slowly  up  to  Archie's 
side,  and  gently  placed  the  flowers  on  the  boy's 
breast.  A  shout,  fierce  and  exulting,  went  up  from 
the  hiding-places  as  he  passed  into  the  shelter.  The 
prisoners  came  creeping  out  of  their  holes  to  admire 
this  brave  man. 

In  a  few  moments  the  steady  tramp  of  marching 
feet  was  heard  outside  the  stockade.  The  company 
halted  at  Jack's  beat,  and  a  new  sentinel  appeared. 
A  new  sentinel  who  glanced  savagely  down  upon 
the  prisoners,  and  seemed  to  dare  any  of  them  to 
make  another  dash.  Between  the  files  of  soldiers 
Jack  was  marched  back  to  the  guard-house  in  dis- 
grace. The  musket  he  had  carried  so  well  was 
taken  from  him.  Terrible  war  that  allows  no  sen- 
timent, no  love  to  soften  one  of  its  harsh  features ! 

"It  was  treason  !"  they  muttered  as  they  marched 
him  back  to  the  guard-house.  "  Death  !  "  they  whis- 
pered sadly  as  the  doors  closed  on  him.  But  Jack 
smiled  in  spite  of  it  all.  It  was  Lucy  that  stood 
before  the  Yankee  ;  it  was  her  hand  that  bade  him 
lower  his  musket,  and  he  was  satisfied.  He  had 
been  true  to  himself. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  PLAN  FOR  ESCAPE 

Archie  looked  up  with  a  feeble  smile  as  John 
came  crawling  back  with  the  flowers.  The  fever 
had  left  the  "little  babe"  at  last,  and  he  knew  now 
that  he  was  in  the  prison.  As  John  placed  the 
flowers  on  Archie's  breast,  the  little  fellow  took 
the  gaunt  hand  in  both  his  feeble  ones  and  raised 
it  to  his  lips.  The  men  understood  each  other. 
There  was  no  need  of  speaking.  When  men  are 
placed  in  such  situations,  the  womanly  qualities 
which  they  take  from  the  companionship  of  their 
mothers  and  sisters  will  always  show.  Under  ordi- 
nary circumstances  both  men  would  have  laughed  at 
such  a  demonstration  of  affection,  but  here,  where  a 
horrible  death  was  grinning  in  their  very  faces,  the 
true  manhood  came  to  the  surface.  It  is  the  truly 
brave  man,  he  who  can  look  without  flinching  into 
the  eyes  of  death,  that  is  the  tenderest  when  the 
danger  is  over. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  I  made  you  go,  John,"  said 
Archie,  feebly,  still  holding  the  gaunt  hand.  "  Did 
they  break  your  leg?" 

"I  guess  not,"  answered  John.  "It's  only  a  flesh 
wound,  I  guess.  It  bleeds  a  little,  but  I  can  stop 
that." 


26  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

John  tore  away  the  hanging  sleeve  of  his  coat, 
and  prepared  a  bandage,  with  which  he  bound  up 
his  leg.  There  was  nothing  dangerous  about  the 
wound,  and  John  felt  disposed  to  make  light  of  it. 

"They  can't  hit  nothin',"  he  said,  gleefully. 
"They  can't  hit  a  barn  door.  That  reb  there 
Avhere  I  jumped  might  have  shot  me  easy.  I  saw 
the  gun  drop,  and  tlien  I  jumped.  What  do  you 
s'pose  made  him  drop  his  gun  ?  "  John  knew  noth- 
ing of  the  little  woman  who  stood  in  front  of  him 
and  turned  Jack's  musket  aside. 

Archie  smiled  wearily  as  John  told  the  story  of 
the  flower-hunting.  A  number  of  the  prisoners 
came  from  their  hiding-places  and  gathered  in  a 
group  to  listen  to  John's  story.  Short,  "thick-set" 
Maine  men  they  were;  all  "home  folks,"  with  all 
that  term  implies.  Most  of  them  had  marched  with 
John  and  Archie  out  of  old  Breezetown.  They 
seemed  like  a  great  family  as  they  gathered  in  the 
sand  to  offer  congratulations  and  sympathy.  Stout, 
hearty  fellows  they  were  when  the  old  elms  bent 
down  as  if  to  whisper  "good-by."  They  were  fresh 
from  home  then.  Now  they  were  sadly  changed. 
Worn  by  suffering,  with  ragged  clothing  hanging 
about  their  wasted  bodies,  they  crouched  in  the 
sand. 

There  were  no  "play-day"  soldiers  in  this  group. 
Th'e  old  New  England  patriotism  is  too  strongly 
planted  in  her  sons  for  any  cruel  treatment  to  tear 
it  away.  It  is  planted  as  firmly  in  the  hearts  of  her 
sons  and  daughters  as  her  gray  old  mountains  are 
fastened  to  her  breast.     There  was  not  a  num  in  the 


A  PLAN   FOR   ESCAPE  27 

whole  company  who  would  have  turned  his  back 
upon  the  loathsome  prison  to  shoulder  a  musket  in 
the  guard  outside.  They  had  suffered  as  not  one 
man  in  ten  thousand  ever  suffers,  or  dreams  of  suf- 
fering. None  but  old  soldiers  can  ever  understand 
what  these  men  endured  under  the  glare  of  the  burn- 
ing Southern  sun.  How  they  longed  for  the  cool 
woods  and  pure  breezes  of  old  Maine.  How  grimly 
they  waited  and  watched  the  life  oozing  away  from 
them  —  the  life  that  meant  so  much  for  'Hhe  folks" 
at  home.  In  spite  of  all  the  agony  they  never 
dreamed  of  changing  their  faith. 

There  was  one  great,  gray-bearded  man  in  the 
group  who  seemed  to  be  a  natural  leader.  He  was 
Archie's  Uncle  Nathan  —  they  are  all  uncles  or  cou- 
sins in  the  old  Maine  towns.  They  all  turned  to 
him  for  counsel.  A  gruff  old  fellow  he  was  —  sun- 
burned and  grizzled,  with  a  hatred  for  his  foes  that 
triumphed  over  all  his  privations.  The  old  fellow 
had  reason  for  his  hatred.  Three  strong  sons  had 
marched  behind  him  out  of  old  Breezetown.  They 
could  not  stay  at  home  when  volunteers  were  called 
for.  Three  strong  boys  —  they  were  now  lying  back 
on  the  battle-fields  —  and  he  alone  was  left  to  tell 
the  story  to  their  mother. 

He  had  made  a  small  Union  flag  out  of  cast-off 
garments  that  he  had  been  able  to  pick  up.  The 
blue  parts  had  been  cut  from  an  old  army  coat. 
The  white  came  from  a  cast-off  shirt,  and  the  red 
was  utilized  from  a  pair  of  torn  stockings.  He  had 
stitched  and  pinned  this  curious  mixture  of  colors 
together,  doing  his  work  when  the  guards  could  not 


28  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

see  him.  It  represented  the  dear  old  banner  under 
which  they  had  fought.  Uncle  Nathan  was  proud 
of  his  flag.  It  was  his  dearest  treasure.  Once,  when 
some  of  the  company,  wild  with  hunger,  had  vaguely 
hinted  at  going  over,  he  had  pulled  out  his  flag  and 
waved  it  defiantly  in  their  faces.  Not  another  word 
had  ever  been  heard  of  surrender.  There  was  too 
much  hatred  sewed  into  that  flag. 

Uncle  Nathan  smiled  grimly  as  he  put  his  hand  on 
John's  leg  and  examined  the  slight  wound.  He  had 
never  before  been  quite  able  to  forget  that  John  was 
only  "  the  Widder  Rockwell's  boy." 

*' Ye  done  well,  boy!  Ye  done  well!"  he  mut- 
tered as  he  satisfied  himself  that  no  serious  damage 
had  been  done.  "  Them  guards  can't  hit  a  barn 
door.  But  what  made  ye  go  after  them  posies?  Ye 
don't  wanter  risk  a  shot  like  that  'thout  ye  can  git  a 
grip  on  some  reb's  throat." 

"  Archie  wanted  'em,"  said  John  simply.  He  did 
not  consider  it  necessary  to  give  any  other  reason  ; 
but  Archie  looked  at  him  and  smiled,  and  they  under- 
stood each  other. 

The  group  of  men,  old  friends  and  neighbors,  who 
had  gathered  in  the  sand,  viewed  the  sick  boy  com- 
passionately. The  old  home  feeling  came  strongly  to 
them  as  they  watched  him.  It  seemed  so  terrible 
for  him,  the  baby  of  the  company,  to  be  dying  here, 
and  they  unable  to  help  him  or  soothe  his  sufferings. 
How  different  such  a  sickness  would  have  been  at 
home,  where  all  ''  the  folks  "  would  hasten  with  words 
of  the  tenderest  consolation  to  draw  the  sting  from 
death.    These  rough  men  did  their  best  to  speak  ten- 


A   PLAN   FOR   ESCAPE  29 

derly ;  but  home  was  too  far  away,  and  the  "  wimmen 
folks  "  could  not  come. 

"  Done  it  fer  him,  did  ye  ?  "  said  Uncle  Nathan  as 
he  brushed  the  hair  away  from  Archie's  forehead. 
"  It  takes  grit,  I  tell  ye,  to  do  sech  things.  It  takes 
men  from  the  State  o'  Maine  ter  show  them  rebels 
what  grit  is.  Them's  the  kind  o'  men  we  raise  to  our 
town.  Old  Breezetown  don't  never  take  no  back 
seat."  He  addressed  this  boasting  remark  to  the 
prison  in  general. 

"  But  what  made  that  fust  rebel  hold  up  his  gun  ? 
—  he  might  have  shot  clean  through  ye  with  half  an 
eye." 

'••  I  don't  know,"  answered  John.  "  I  see  him  drop 
the  p'int  of  his  gun  an'  I  give  a  jump." 

"  An'  ye  done  well,  John,  ye  done  well.  Give  me 
fifty  sech  men  as  you  be,  an'  I'll  be  out  of  this  yard 
in  half  an  hour.  I  see  'em  take  that  fust  rebel 
down.  They'll  court-martial  him,  I  s'pose.  It  beats 
all  how  they  do  business.  When  they  git  a  decent 
man  on  guard,  they  shoot  him  jest  to  keep  in  prac- 
tice. It  beats  all,"  and  Uncle  Nathan,  with  a  growl 
at  the  imperfect  military  system  of  the  Confederacy, 
started  away. 

He  paused  at  the  end  of  a  few  steps,  and  came 
slowly  back.  His  face  showed  that  something  of 
great  importance  was  coming.  He  pulled  from 
beneath  his  coat  the  rude  flag  he  had  carried  so 
sacredly.  He  pushed  the  little  banner  into  John's 
hand  as  he  said,  —  "I'll  make  ye  a  present  of  that. 
I'll  warrant  you'll  keep  it  too.  It  takes  men  o'  grit 
to  do  sech  a  thing  as  that  is,  I  tell  ye.     I  hadn't  no 


30  AXDERSONVILLE    VIOLETS 

idee  the  Widcler  RockwelFs  boy  hed  ser  much  in 
liim.  I'm  proud  of  ye — yes,  I  be"  —  and  he 
marched^  away,  witli  a  smile  for  Archie,  while  John 
thrust  the  flag  into  his  pocket. 

Uncle  Nathan  went  away,  but  the  rest  of  the  men 
made  quite  a  visit.  There  was  nothing  to  do,  and 
they  felt  that  they  might  just  as  well  stop  there  and 
talk  in  the  shade,  as  to  wander  about  in  the  sun. 
They  were  all  desperately  hungry,  and  it  was  but 
natural  that  they  should  fall  into  a  discussion  of 
foods.  They  had  held  many  a  Barmecide's  feast  in 
the  prison  before — indeed  their  greatest  pleasure  lay 
in  attempting  to 

"  Cloy  the  hungry  edge  of  appetite 
By  bare  imagination  of  a  feast." 

**  I  tell  ye,"  began  Tom  Gove,  "  w^hen  I  git  back  to 
the  State  o'  Maine,  I'm  gonter  git  me  the  squarest 
meal  you  ever  see.  I  want  me  some  fish  chowder. 
I'm  gonter  git  that  down  to  Bill  Waterside's.  Bill 
can  make  the  best  fish  chowder  that  ever  was  eet. 
He  takes  his  big  kittle  and  puts  him  in  fust  a  layer 
o'  fish,  then  a  thin  patch  o'  pork,  then  a  layer  o'  per- 
taters,  then  a  layer  o'  crackers,  an'  so  on  to  the  top. 
When  it  comes  out  o'  that  kittle,  there  ain't  nothin' 
better  nowhere,  I  tell  ye." 

The  water  stood  in  Tom's  mouth  as  he  gave  this 
recipe.  He  involuntarily  extended  his  hand  as  if  to 
secure  a  plateful  of  the  delicious  mixture.  Bill 
Brown  had  decided  to  patronize  home  talent  as  far 
as  possible.  He  was  determined  to  secure  a  dish  of 
his  mother's  baked  beans. 


A  PLAN   FOR   ESCAPE  31 

"  They  beats  everything,"  he  argaecl.  "  I've  seen 
my  mother  cook  'em  time  and  agin.  She  parbiles 
'em  over  niglit,  an'  then  puts  'em  in  a  deep  dish  with 
a  piece  o'  pork  on  top.  She  puts  in  a  little  merksses 
an'  bakes  'em  kinder  slow.  There  ain't  nothin'  comes 
nigh  'em  for  taste  "  —  and  Bill  drew  a  long  breath  as 
if  to  catch  a  faint  whiff  from  the  fragrant  bean-pot 
just  coming  out  of  his  mother's  oven. 

Dave  Jackson  was  a  trifle  more  of  an  aristocrat. 
It  must  be  stated  in  explanation  that  Dave's  mother 
was  not  particularly  noted  as  a  cook. 

"  I'm  gonter  stop  to  Boston  an'  get  me  a  real  good 
ham  an'  eggs.  I  know  a  place  where  they  cook  eggs 
so  they  slide  right  down  your  throat  without  butter." 

And  so  the  men  talked  on,  laying  plans  for  a  time 
that  never  could  come. 

The  crowd  at  last  dropped  away,  and  left  Archie  and 
John  alone.     They  were  glad  of  the  chance  to  talk. 

"I'm  sorry  I  made  you  go,  John,"  said  Archie, 
gently  —  ''but  you  will  never  be  sorry  for  it,  I'm 
sure." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  John,  sturdily;  "I  ain't  a 
mite  hurt,  and  you  got  3^our  flowers." 

"But  it  wasn't  for  me  that  you  went,  John.  I 
know  all  about  it,  John,  and  I  am  sure  it  will  be  all 
right  some  day."  He  clasped  John's  hand  with  a 
pressure  that  both  men  understood. 

"  I  shall  never  see  her  again,  John.  I  am  sure  of 
that  now,  but  I  want  jou  to  take  a  message  from  me 
—  and  you  must  live  through  here  to  do  it.  I  meant 
to  do  so  much  for  them,  John,  but  it's  all  passed  now, 
and  I  can  only  leave  them  to  you." 


32  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

John  listened  without  a  word.  How  gladly  he 
would  take  tlie  cliarge.  He  would  live  to  fulfil 
it,  too. 

"  I  have  written  her  a  letter,"  said  Archie,  after  a 
little.  "  You  must  give  it  to  her,  and  tell  her  just 
how  I  wrote  and  sent  it.  Give  her  my  love,  John, 
and  tell  her  that  I  meant  all  I  have  written  her.  I 
think  she  will  believe  it,  too.  I'm  so  tired,  John.  I 
think  I  will  try  to  sleep  a  little." 

John  arranged  the  coat  under  Archie's  head.  The 
little  fellow  closed  his  eyes,  and  slept  like  a  tired 
child.  John  sat  beside  him  and  brushed  the  flies  away 
from  the  thin  face.  He  glanced  at  the  letter  that 
Archie  had  given  him.  It  was  written  on  a  piece  of 
rough  paper  that  had  been  torn  from  some  package. 
The  words  were  traced  with  a  dim  lead  pencil,  and 
then  retraced  with  a  j^ale  ink  that  Archie  had  bor- 
rowed from  one  of  the  prisoners.  John  did  not 
mean  to  read  the  letter,  but  his  eye  glanced  instinc- 
tively over  the  rough  page,  and  he  read  it  through 
almost  at  a  glance.  His  heart  gave  a  great  throb  as 
he  read:  — 

*'  Dear  Nellie  :  I  am  writing  this  in  the  prison.  It  is  the  last 
time  I  shall  ever  -write  to  you,  for  I  do  not  think  I  shall  live  through 
another  week.  I  am  not  afraid  to  die,  for  I  feel  that  I  have  tried 
to  do  my  best.  John  has  promised  to  carry  this  letter  to  you,  and 
I  know  he  will  live  to  do  it.  He  will  carry  my  love  to  you,  too. 
I  do  wish  you  could  know  John  as  well  as  I  do.  What  I  wrote  just 
before  we  were  captured  was  not  half  strong  enough.  If  you  love 
me  you  never  will  marry  any  one  till  you  know  just  what  John  is. 
He  loves  you  better  than  he  loves  his  own  life.  I  know  it,  for  he 
would  die  to-day  for  me,  because  I  am  like  you.  Good-by,  com- 
fort mother  the  best  you  can.  I  did  mean  to  do  so  much  for  you, 
but  it's  all  past  now.  John  will  tell  you  all  about  it;  and  if  you 
could  only  know  him,  you  would  love  him  just  as  well  as  I  do. 

"  Archie."    . 


A  PLAN  FOR  ESCAPE  33 

John  read  this  letter,  and  then  folded  it  carefully, 
tearing  off  a  piece  from  his  ragged  coat  to  serve  for 
a  covering.  He  opened  his  vest,  and  disclosed  the 
piece  of  the  letter  to  Archie  with  "  I  love  you  "  written 
upon  it.  He  fastened  both  papers  with  the  pin,  and 
buttoned  the  vest  tightly  about  his  throat. 

John  sat  by  Archie's  side  till  the  sun  came  back 
over  the  bright  hills.  Slowly  it  circled  up  over  the 
prison,  gradually  it  destroyed  the  shade  where 
Archie  was  lying.  The  sunlight  fell  directly  in  the 
face  of  the  sleeper,  and,  turn  as  he  would,  John  could 
not  keep  him  in  the  shade.  At  last  he  shook 
Archie's  shoulder  to  rouse  him.  The  sleeping  man 
was  cold  and  stiff.  John  had  been  watching  the 
sleep  of  death. 

The  soldiers  of  the  old  Maine  town  came  and 
viewed  the  body  in  solemn  procession.  There  was 
nothing  they  could  do  or  say.  They  had  passed 
through  too  many  horrors  already. 

Uncle  Nathan  and  John  carried  the  body  into  the 
shade.  They  threw  a  coat  over  the  face,  and  ar- 
ranged the  violets  on  the  breast.  This  was  all  they 
could  do  now.  John's  leg  troubled  him  somewhat, 
yet  he  did  his  work.  As  they  came  back  to  their 
old  place.  Uncle  Nathan  whispered  to  John  :  — 

"  Are  ye  ready  to  make  a  dash  agin,  and  push 
outer  here  ?  '* 

John  nodded.  The  letter  under  his  coat  throbbed 
at  the  thouglit  of  freedom.  He  felt  that  he  must 
deliver  that  note.  It  had  put  a  wild  courage  into 
his  heart.  Uncle  Nathan  chuckled  with  great  satis- 
faction. 


34  A^'DE1^S0NVILLE   VIOLETS 

"I  knowed  ye  would.  I  like  yer  grit  fust-rate. 
We  can  show  them  fellers  what  kind  of  folks  we 
raise  to  home  in  the  State  o'  Maine.  We  must 
leave  the  boys  liere,  and  make  a  break  for  the  lines." 

Uncle  Nathan  detailed  his  plan.  A  number  of  the 
prisoners  were  called  for  to  go  out  on  the  hills  after 
firewood.  He  had  gone  once,  and  noticed,  as  he 
thought,  a  chance  for  escape.  He  proposed  to  John 
to  go  out,  separate  the  guards,  beat  them  down, 
secure  their  arms  and  ammunition,  and  make  for  the 
mountains.  It  was  a  wild  scheme.  Many  a  pris- 
oner had  been  killed  attempting  it,  but  John  was  still 
ready  to  tr3\  Anything  rather  than  endure  another 
month  of  Andersonville  life.  The  two  men  shook 
hands.  They  were  willing  to  make  the  trial.  They 
went  back  to  take  a  last  look  at  Archie.  There 
was  no  "  scene,"  no  painful  leave-taking.  John  bent 
over  and  cut  away  one  of  the  curls  that  struggled 
over  the  dead  man's  forehead.  They  threw  the  old 
coat  back  over  the  face,  and  it  was  all  over.  John 
and  Uncle  Nathan  secured  a  position  in  the  squad  of 
wood-carriers.  They  went  out  through  the  gates, 
determined  never  to  reenter  them  alive.  As  they 
marched  up  over  the  hills,  they  saw  a  file  of  rebel 
soldiers,  with  a  man  marching  in  the  midst  with 
his  hands  bound  behind  him.  They  were  not  near 
enough  to  recognize  Jack  Foster. 


CHAPTER    V. 

DISHONORABLY   DISCHARGED 

Whe:n"  Jack  Foster  found  himself  alone  in  the 
guard-house,  his  first  impulse  was  to  read  his  letters. 
There  Avas  just  light  enough  in  the  dim  room  to 
enable  him  to  see  the  words  of  the  letter  that  he 
selected  at  random  from  his  pocket. 

This  selection  was  not,  on  the  whole,  a  happy  one. 
It  had  been  written  just  after  Grant  defeated  Pem- 
berton  and  drove  him  back  into  Vicksburg.  The 
Union  soldiers  had  marched  through  the  village. 
Lucy  had  but  spoken  the  feelings  of  all  Southern 
women  when  she  Avrote,  ''I  hate  them  all.  If  you 
ever  neglect  your  duty,  or  show  any  mercy  for  these 
robbers  and  murderers,  I  will  never  speak  to  you 
again.  But  I  know  you  never  will  come  to  any  dis- 
grace, for  you  love  me  too  well." 

Somehow,  Jack  did  not  feel  exactly  comfortable 
after  reading  this  letter.  What  would  she  think  of 
him  now?  He  had  spared  a  Yankee's  life,  and 
brought  disgrace  upon  himself.  Would  she  believe 
him  when  he  told  her  the  reason  ? 

The  thouglit  was  so  unpleasant  that  he  crowded 
the  letters  back  into  his  pocket.  This  was  the  first 
time  they  had  failed  to  bring  him  consolation.  He 
put  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  began  walking  up 


36  ANDEESONVILLE   VIOLETS 

and  down  the  narrow  room.  There  was  nothing  par- 
ticularly dreadful  about  the  trial  which  he  knew 
would  soon  be  called.  He  had  faced  death  too  many 
times  to  fear  it  now,  but  the  thought  of  Lucy's 
displeasure  nearly  drove  him  wild.  As  he  paced 
slowly  up  and  down,  he  caught  the  sound  of  march- 
ing feet  outside. 

"Halt!"  The  stern  order  brought  both  the 
marching  guard  and  himself  to  a  standstill.  The 
door  was  unlocked  and  thrown  open.  Peering  out 
into  the  bright  light,  Jack  found  himself  confronted 
by  two  lines  of  soldiers,  who  were  drawn  up  in 
front  of  the  door. 

The  officer  in  command  ordered  Jack  to  march 
out  and  take  his  place  between  the  lines  of  soldiers. 
Then  at  the  sharp  order,  "  Forward  —  March  !  "  the 
squad  advanced  in  the  direction  of  the  commander's 
office.  Jack  glanced  at  the  faces  of  the  guards  as 
they  marched  on.  He  knew  them  all.  There  was 
not  a  sign  of  hope  in  any  countenance.  A  group  of 
officers  stood  about  the  door  of  the  office.  At  tlie 
approach  of  the  guard  they  passed  inside.  Jack,  at 
the  order,  followed  them,  while  the  guard  fell  in  be- 
hind to  cover  the  entrance.  And  Jack  Foster  found 
himself  on  trial  for  his  life.  It  was  treason  then  to 
refuse  to  shoot  a  man  for  doing  what  any  man  would 
have  done.  It  was  a  crime  to  be  merciful.  The 
room  was  dismal  and  bare,  in  keeping  with  war's 
justice.  A  few  rough  chairs  and  a  dirty  table  cov- 
ered with  papers  stood  at  one  end.  A  few  maps 
were  hung  upon  the  walls.  The  floor  and  walls 
were  stained  and  rough.     Jack  stood  in    the    mid- 


DISHONORABLY    DISCHARGED  37 

die  of  the  room,  while  the  guard  ranged  about  the 
sides.  Every  eye  turned  to  the  prison  command- 
er. This  personage  sat  at  the  little  table.  He 
seemed  glum  and  savage,  and  the  others  glanced 
anxiously  at  him.  A  rough,  brutal-looking  man,  he 
glared  angrily  at  Jack,  and  nodded  his  head  impa- 
tiently at  the  group  of  officers  gathered  about  him, 
as  if  anxious  to  have  the  case  ended.  An  example 
must  be  made  of  this  sentinel.  A  few  such  cases 
and  the  prisoners  would  break  over  the  walls. 
There  was  no  possible  hope  for  mercy  in  that  savage 
face.  Jack  knew  that  his  story  would  be  wasted  on 
such  a  man.  A  grim,  hard  feeling  came  over  him, 
and  he  shut  his  teeth  just  as  he  used  to  do  when  the 
company  marched  into  battle.  He  was  too  proud  to 
beg  for  his  life,  and  he  knew  he  had  no  defence  that 
could  ever  satisfy  such  a  man.  So  he  waited  proudly 
for  the  result. 

The  trial  was  a  very  short  one.  The  case  against 
Jack  was  too  clear  to  admit  of  any  argument.  The 
guard  who  had  shot  John  Rockwell  told  the  story  as 
an  outsider  might  have  seen  it.  This  man  stated 
that  he  had  seen  the  big  Yankee  talking  with  Jack. 
He  had  distinctly  seen  Jack  lower  his  musket,  and 
he  had  noticed  the  Yankee  jump  over  the  line.  At 
this  point  he  had  deemed  it  necessary  to  take  an 
active  part  in  the  exercise  himself.  He  had  taken  a 
hasty  aim  and  fired.  The  Yankee  was,  in  his  opin- 
ion, very  badly  hurt  —  his  only  regret  was  that  he 
had  not  killed  him  at  once.  This  story  was  told  in  a 
most  dramatic  manner,  with  many  gestures  and  ex- 
planatory remarks.     What  did  this  man  know  or  care 


38  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

about  the  violets  or  the  little  woman  who  had  stood 
in  front  of  the  Yankee? 

The  officers  listened  carefully  to  the  story,  asking 
an  occasional  question.  When  the  fluent  sentinel 
had  finished  his  oration,  all  eyes  turned  to  Jack. 

"  Well,  what  have  you  got  to  say  ?  "  growled  the 
commander. 

What  could  Jack  say?  How  could  he  tell  about 
the  sick  boy,  and  the  violets,  and  Lucy? 

His  reason  must  remain  tied  to  his  heart,  for  this 
sneering  man  never  would  believe  him. 

He  looked  straight  into  the  commander's  eyes  as 
he  answered,  slowly  :  — 

"Nothing,  I  reckon." 

That  was  the  end  of  the  trial.  At  an  order  from 
the  officer,  the  prisoner,  surrounded  by  the  guards, 
marched  out  of  the  room.  Just  as  Jack  turned,  he 
saw  his  old  captain  rise  from  his  chair  to  address  the 
commander.  The  first  words  fell  upon  Jack's  ear : 
"  I  plead  for  mercy  for  this  man.  I  have  seen  him 
in  battle,  and  I  know  there  is  not  a  braver  man  in 
the  army."  But  here  the  door  closed,  and  the  rest 
was  never  heard. 

Who  can  tell  what  Jack  felt  as  he  marched  back 
to  the  guard-house  ?  Who  can  tell  what  he  thought 
wlien  the  sentence  came  —  "  To  be  shot  at  noon  "  ? 
There  are  few  men  who  can  tell,  few  men  who  ever 
live  such  lives.  After  all  the  years  of  hoping  and 
devotion  it  had  come  to  this.  And  yet  down  in  his 
heart  there  was  still  a  feeling  of  satisfaction.  He  was 
glad,  after  all,  that  he  did  not  shoot  the  Yankee. 
At  last  the  time  came.     He  had  written  a  long,  dis- 


DISHONORABLY  DISCHARGED  39 

jointed  letter  to  Lucy  and  his  mother,  trying  to  tell 
them  just  how  he  had  done  liis  duty.  The  letter  was 
in  his  breast-pocket  when  the  guards  came  to  march 
liim  away.  His  hands  were  bound  behind  him. 
Twelve  soldiers,  members  of  his  own  company,  had 
been  detailed  to  do  the  horrible  Avork  of  execution. 
They  dared  not  look  Jack  in  the  fiice  as  they  bound 
him.  Six  of  the  guns  were  loaded,  and  six  were 
empty.  No  one  could  tell  which  one  he  held.  A 
merciful  provision  when  one's  friend  stood  up  as  a 
target.  The  men  were  silent.  There  was  no  one 
there  to  offer  consolation  to  poor  Jack.  He  started 
in  a  sort  of  daze  to  the  place  of  execution.  He 
could  hardly  realize  his  position  yet.  The  sad-faced 
squad  had  hardly  taken  a  dozen  steps  when  a  mes- 
senger dashed  up  with  a  paper  in  his  hand.  The 
soldiers  halted  almost  without  the  order,  while  the 
officer  glanced  over  the  paper.  Jack  waited  in  dull 
anxiety. 

"  Reprieved,"  the  officer  said  at  last,  with  a  curi- 
ous glance  at  Jack.  The  squad  sent  up  a  shout, 
which  was  echoed  from  the  barracks.  The  men  were 
happy  to  know  that  they  would  not  be  called  upon 
to  kill  a  brother  soldier. 

There  was  a  look  on  the  face  of  the  officer  that 
Jack  did  not  like.  The  rest  of  the  paper  was  read 
as  the  soldiers  unbound  Jack's  arms  and  heartily 
shook  hands  with  him.  Jack  almost  wished  for  a 
moment  that  the  paper  h..d  never  been  written.  He 
was  pardoned  in  consequence  of  his  previous  good 
conduct,  but,  that  his  grave  offence  might  be  a  les- 
son  to  others,  he  was  dishonorably  discharged  from 


40  ANDERSONYILLE  VIOLETS 

the  service  —  never  to  enter  it  again.  It  was  worse 
than  the  death  sentence  to  a  proud  man.  Many  a 
man  would  prefer  death  to  a  life  of  imprisonment, 
where  all  hope  and  ambition  must  be  starved  out  of 
him.  Many  a  man  would  rather  die  than  live  in  the 
midst  of  former  friends  who  could  only  point  the  fin- 
ger of  shame  and  use  him  as  a  terrible  example  for 
their  children. 

The  soldiers  —  Jack's  old  comrades  —  looked  at 
each  other  in  horror.  "  Dishonorably  discharged  " 
from  the  service  they  would  give  their  lives  for  so 
willingly  —  for  which  they  had  suffered  so  much. 
With  all  a  Southern  man's  love  of  honor  and  chiv- 
alry they  recoiled  from  such  a  bitter  disgrace.  Bet- 
ter death  than  such  dishonor.  What  true  Southern 
man  or  woman  could  ever  look  upon  a  man  who 
had  been  "  dishonorably  discharged."  Such  a  stain 
would  cling  through  one's  life. 

Jack  felt  the  disgrace  keenly.  He  turned  white 
as  death  and  the  tears  came  into  his  eyes. 

"  Kill  me,  boys,"  he  begged.  "I  can  stand  that,  I 
reckon,  but  don't  send  me  back  like  that." 

But  the  squad  of  men  marched  sullenly  back  to 
the  barracks  —  glad,  yet  sorry  that  the  execution  had 
been  prevented.  Glad  that  Jack  was  to  live,  sorry 
that  such  a  terrible  stain  was  to  be  put  upon  his 
character.  Jack  followed  them  slowl}-  back  to  the 
prison  walls.  The  soldiers  who  knew  of  his  sentence 
seemed  to  shun  him.  There  was  no  excuse  that  he 
could  offer.  It  seemed  as  if  his  proper  place  was 
inside  the  heavy  gate  with  the  other  prisoners.  All 
his  life  was   clouded.     There  seemed  no   hope    for 


DISHONORABLY   DISCHARGED  41 

him.  What  would  Lucy  say  to  her  dishonored 
knight? 

As  Jack  passed  slowly  by  the  stockade,  the  gate 
swung  open  and  the  guard  passed  out,  followed  by 
a  squad  of  prisoners  who  carried  the  dead.  Jack 
turned  carelessly  to  look  at  tliem.  Archie's  long, 
yellow  hair  straggled  out  from  beneath  tlie  blanket 
that  had  been  loosely  thrown  over  him.  Jack  recog- 
nized the  head  at  once.  He  stepped  to  the  side  of 
the  cart  in  which  the  bodies  were  placed,  and  looked 
long  and  earnestly  at  the  boyish  face  for  which  he 
had  lost  so  much. 

The  soldiers  who  had  charge  of  the  work  did  not 
know  of  Jack's,  dishonor.  They  supposed  he  had 
been  pardoned  without  any  condition.  They  spoke 
to  him  as  of  old. 

"It's  the  little  babe,  I  reckon.  Jack,"  they  said. 
"See  them  flowers.  He'd  throw  hisself  mighty 
straight  ef  he  had  them  at  home,  I  reckon." 

Jack  glanced  at  the  violets  fastened  in  Archie's 
shirt.     A  strange  impulse  tempted  him  to  take  them. 

"  I  reckon  I'll  keep  them,"  he  said,  and  he  reached 
over  and  pulled  them  from  their  fastening.  It  would 
be  something  after  all  to  keep  these  little  flowers 
even  if  they  had  brought  him  such  dishonor.  He 
turned  back  to  the  barracks  and  the  cart  jolted  on 
to  the  rude  graveyard. 


CHAPTER  VL 

THE  ESCAPE 

Uncle  Nathan  and  John  marched  slowly,  over 
the  hills  toward  the  woods.  The  gang,  shortly  after 
leaving  the  prison,  had  divided  up  into  small  squads 
which  marched  out  in  different  directions.  Each 
squad  consisted  of  six  prisoners  and  two  guards. 
The  prisoners  understood  that  a  single  suspicious 
gesture  would  be  fatal  to  them.  The  guards  real- 
ized that  prompt  action  would  be  necessary.  The 
prisoners  marched  in  front,  Uncle  Nathan  and  John 
in  advance,  while  the  guards  followed  in  the  rear. 
The  four  prisoners  who  followed  the  leaders  were 
members  of  a  German  regiment  from  Pennsylvania. 
One  of  them  could  speak  a  little  English,  but  their 
favorite  means  of  communication  was  the  rude  dia- 
lect so  common  in  the  German  districts  of  their 
State.  These  men  made  wooden  and  machine-like 
prisoners,  just  as  they  made  block-like  soldiers. 
They  marched  heavily  on,  with  their  eyes  bent  on 
the  ground,  punching  great  holes  in  tlie  sand  at 
each  heavy  step.  Uncle  Nathan  had  the  most  pro- 
found contempt  for  his  fellow-prisoners.  He  knew 
they  would  be  of  no  help  whatever  in  his  proposed 
dash  for  liberty. 

"Them  Pennsylvany  Dutch,"  he  whispered  to 
42 


THE  ESCAPE  48 

John,  "don't  know  nothin'.  One  of  'em  keeps 
settin'  his  big  hoof  right  onter  my  heel.  We  can't 
make  no  dependence  on  them." 

It  was  a  strange-looking  company.  John  walked 
painfully.  His  leg  hurt  him  somewhat,  but  he 
dragged  it  manfully  on  over  the  sand,  trying  not 
to  limp  at  all.  He  would  not  go  back  now.  He 
had  seen  Andersonville  for  the  last  time.  He 
looked  wilder  than  ever.  The  cap  with  its  droop- 
ing visor,  the  sleeveless  coat,  ragged  and  tightly 
buttoned  at  the  throat,  the  gaping  shoes,  and  the 
thin  brown  legs  all  added  to  his  strange  appearance. 
Uncle  Nathan  marched  grimly  at  John's  side.  The 
old  man  had  lost  his  soldier's  cap.  A  square  piece 
of  the  lining  of  his  coat,  with  a  knot  tied  in  each 
corner,  served  for  a  head  covering.  His  gray  hair 
straggled  down  about  his  neck  and  ears,  and  his 
grizzled  beard  stood  out  in  the  wildest  disorder 
about  his  face.  The  lines  on  his  forehead  and 
under  his  eyes  had  deepened  until  his  face  had 
drawn  into  a  grim  scowl.  His  gray  eyes  glisten- 
ing under  the  heavy  eyebrows  spoke  of  the  rough 
desperation  that  filled  his  soul.  He  had  no  coat  — 
he  had  used  the  last  of  it  in  making  his  flag,  and 
his  vest  hung  in  tatters.  An  attempt  had  been 
made  to  patch  this  latter  garment  with  the  side  of 
an  old  meal  sack,  but  this  attempt  had  added  little 
to  the  beauty  or  usefulness  of  the  vest.  His  shirt 
sleeves  were  ragged,  and  the  thin  brown  arms  were 
bare  from  the  elbows. 

The  "Pennsylvany  Dutch"  looked  like  walking 
ragbags.      Their    tattered    garments    shook    about 


44  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

them  as  they  marched  solidly  up  the  hill.  They 
had  never  taken  the  least  care  of  their  clothing,  and 
now  their  only  covering  consisted  of  a  series  of  rags 
that  seemed  in  constant  danger  of  falling  from  them. 
If  anything  was  needed  to  complete  the  ridiculous 
picture,  the  element  was  certainly  supplied  by  the 
two  rebel  soldiers  who  marched  at  the  rear  of  the 
column.  One  was  a  short,  heavy  Alabamian  with 
a  large,  exceedingly  hairy  head  and  neck,  that 
seemed  bent  on  imprisoning  his  face  in  a  forest  of 
hair.  His  body  promised  to  assume  true  aldermanic 
proportions  when  he  should  once  more  secure  a 
close  proximity  to  rations  that  would  enable  him  to 
do  himself  justice.  The  spectacle  of  a  fat  man  who 
has  been  deprived,  for  any  length  of  time,  of  the 
good  living  that  made  him  greater  than  other  men, 
is  a  sad  one.  We  feel  that  the  form  and  face  have 
been  driven  back  from  the  proud  proportions  they 
once  held.  We  watch  such  a  man's  smile  with  sor- 
row, for  we  feel  that  it  ought  to  be,  at  least,  an  inch 
in  advance  of  its  present  ground.  The  short  soldier 
walked  with  short  waddling  footsteps,  with  his  mus- 
ket thrown  carelessly  over  his  shoulder,  yet  keeping 
a  sharp  lookout  on  the  prisoners.  He  was  dressed 
in  the  prevailing  slouch  hat  and  dirty  gray  uniform 
of  the  Confederacy.  His  coat,  evidently  made  at  a 
happier  time,  when  its  owner  had  access  to  a  better 
table,  hung  in  loose  folds  about  his  body.  His  re- 
duced legs  struck  against  the  sides  of  his  volumi- 
nous pants  with  about  the  significance  of  a  blow 
against  the  side  of  a  hanging  carpet.  Uncle  Nathan 
Lad  singled  out  this  man  as  the  easier  of  the  two  to 


THE  ESCAPE  45 

handle.  The  other  soldier  was  the  exact  opposite  of 
his  companion.  A  tall,  gaunt  Mississippian,  with 
the  long,  thin  legs  and  arms,  lank  hair  and  melan- 
choly face,  peculiar  to  the  "  piney  woods  "  regions. 
A  student  of  character  will  notice  that  men  can  be 
known  by  the  character  of  the  soil  upon  which  they 
have  been  raised.  A  dry,  thin  soil  is  almost  sure  to 
produce  long,  thin  men,  who  seem  eager  to  grow 
away  as  far  as  possible  from  the  earth  that  has 
barely  supported  them.  On  rich  soil  will  be  found 
men,  thick  and  heavy,  who  seem  to  desire  to  walk 
solidly  upon  the  good  ground.  The  tall  guard 
towered  high  above  his  comrade.  He  kept  his  dull, 
heavy  eyes  carefully  fixed  upon  space  as  he  marched 
solemnly  on.  His  long,  thin  features  and  cadaver- 
ous cheeks  contrasted  strongly  with  the  good- 
natured  face  of  the  man  at  his  side,  whose  short  legs 
were  taxed  to  their  utmost  to  keep  in  step.  Both 
men,  in  addition  to  their  muskets,  carried  revolvers 
at  their  belts. 

The  strange  procession  moved  on  over  the  hills 
with  some  semblance  of  order  till  the  first  valley 
was  reached.  Once  out  of  sight  of  the  camp,  the 
discipline  of  the  guards  and  the  legs  of  the  short 
man  gave  out  togetlier.  The  portly  soldier  stopped 
the  long  stride,  and  fell  back  to  his  more  comforta- 
ble short  step.  The  long  soldier,  with  the  accommo- 
dating indolence  of  his  race,  shortened  his  own  step. 
Uncle  Nathan  and  John  instinctively  slackened 
their  pace,  but  the  "  Peinisylvany  Dutch  ''  went  on 
with  the  same  stride.  They  ran  into  the  leaders 
so  heavily   that   John   and   Uncle   Nathan  stepped 


46  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

to  the  side  and  fell  in  behind  the  progressive 
Dutchmen. 

There  was  reason  and  method  in  this  new  move- 
ment. Uncle  Nathan  wished  to  get  near  the  two 
soldiers  and  throw  them  off  their  guard.  He  had 
great  faith  in  his  conversational  powers.  The  use- 
less energy  displayed  by  the  "  Pennsylvany  Dutch  " 
did  not  meet  with  the  approval  of  the  stout  soldier. 
To  him  all  extra  motion  was  useless.  They  were  not, 
to  his  mind,  engaged  in  any  w^alking  match  or  any 
other  event  in  which  useless  energy  w^is  required. 

"  Halt ! "  he  shouted,  in  his  most  commanding 
tone,  holding  his  musket  with  one  hand,  while  with 
the  other  he  pulled  his  capacious  vest  down  into 
something  like  position.  This  vest  movement  seems 
to  be  the  favorite  motion  of  authority  employed  by 
fat  men  of  good  nature  and  small  intellect.  The 
Germans  halted  so  suddenly  that  they  ploughed  great 
holes  in  the  sand  with  their  feet.  They  never 
moved  their  heads,  but  stood  with  eyes  held  directly 
in  front  of  them,  waiting  for  the  next  order. 

"I  reckon  ye'd  better  go  to  the  front  an'  march 
'em  sorter  slow  like,  Bill,"  said  the  portly  command- 
er of  the  expedition,  as  he  j)ushed  his  hat  to  one 
side  of  his  hairy  head.  The  long  soldier,  thus 
advised,  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  tlie  column 
without  a  word  of  argument.  He  kept  his  eyes 
straight  before  him,  looking  neither  to  tlie  right  nor 
to  the  left,  as  if  confident  tliat  his  comrade  was 
fully  able  to  manage  everything  in  the  rear. 

''  For'ad  march  !  Slow  !  "  ordered  the  commander, 
pulling  his  hat  down  over  his  forehead. 


THE   ESCAPE  47 

At  the  word  Bill  started  at  his  most  indolent  pace, 
while  the  poor  ^'Pennsylvany  Dutch"  went  tum- 
bling over  one  another's  feet  in  their  efforts  to  keep 
pace  with  the  slow  motion.  The  fat  man  toddled  at 
the  rear,  fully  satisfied  with  the  success  of  his  new 
arrangements.  He  grew  quite  communicative  as 
they  marched  slowly  on. 

"  I  expect  you  Yanks  ain't  gut  nary  piece  of  ter- 
backer,  have  ye  ?  I  done  used  mine  all  up,"  he 
began. 

At  the  word  "  terbacker  "  Bill's  face  displayed  its 
first  sign  of  intelligence.  His  chin  dropped  into 
something  like  a  smile,  and  one  dull  eye  glanced 
back  to  take  notes  on  the  answer.  There  are  vari- 
ous ways  of  reaching  the  souls  of  different  men. 

The  question  may  be  considered,  by  some  persons, 
a  very  foolish  one.  What  reasonable  man  could 
expect  prisoners,  suffering  for  want  of  the  simple 
necessaries  of  life,  to  be  provided  with  an  article 
which  is  usually  looked  upon  as  a  luxury?  How- 
ever, the  question  served  to  open  the  conversation, 
and  is  no  more  useless  than  many  used  for  a  like 
purpose.  Uncle  Nathan  appointed  himself  as  spokes- 
man for  the  party.  John  and  the  "  Pennsylvany 
Dutch  "  never  offered  any  objection. 

"  No,  we  ain't  gut  none.  Don't  s'pose  we  can  git 
none  of  you,  can  we  ?  I  was  kinder  in  hopes  we 
could." 

The  tobacco  question,  though  easily  exhausted, 
paved  the  way  for  an  extended  conversation,  and, 
by  the  time  the  first  woodpile  was  reached.  Uncle 
Nathan  and  the  fat  soldier  were  on  as  good  terms  as 


48  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

their  circumstances  would  allow.  A  discussion  or 
conversation  between  any  prisoner  and  his  keeper 
must  always  be  a  trifle  one-sided,  but  it  is  better  than 
a  complete  silence.  On  reaching  the  pile,  the  first 
act  of  the  commander  was  to  suggest  a  rest.  There 
was  no  attempt  at  argument  on  this  proposition,  and 
the  whole  party  at  once  sat  down  in  the  sand,  near  a 
tall  pine  to  gather  strength  for  the  return  trip.  The 
two  guards  sat  a  little  to  one  side.  The  "  Pennsyl- 
vany  Dutch  "  sat  directly  in  the  sun,  and  fell  at  once 
into  the  discussion  of  some  evidently  interesting 
point,  in  their  disjointed  German. 

"Whar  be  them  fellers  frum,  Yank?  "  asked  the 
Alabamian,  pointing  to  the  group. 

"  Them's  what  we  call  Pennsylvany  Dutch,"  an- 
swered Uncle  Nathan  ;  "  furreners,"  he  added,  fearful 
lest  the  rebel  might  think  these  men  came  from  his 
beloved  State  of  Maine. 

"Wall,  Yank,"  continued  the  leader,  reflectively, 
"  them  furreners  is  what  done  it.  I'm  doggoned  if 
that  ain't  so.  They've  hurt  us  right  smart,  I  reckon. 
Ef  you  all  hed  gut  shut  of  them  furreners,  we  shud 
be  'way  on  top  of  ye  now.  Them  furreners  is  what's 
doin'  it,  I  reckon." 

Uncle  Nathan  found  it  hard  to  answer  this  state- 
ment calmly.  He  had  his  own  ideas  on  the  subject, 
and  it  was  hard  to  keep  them  back.  He  knew  that 
Old  Abe,  with  the  aid  of  men  like  his  own  from  the 
"  State  o'  Maine,"  had  done  more  than  all  the  "  fur- 
reners "  that  ever  breathed.  Still,  it  was  his  present 
policy  to  keep  his  captors  good-natured,  and  so  he 
muttered  shortly,  — 


THE  ESCAPE  49 

"Mebbe  so." 

"  Yes,  sah.  It's  them  furreners  an'  that  twenty- 
nigger  law  thet's  gonter  do  it,  ef  anything  does.  You 
all  kin  see  that.  Drop  them  furreners  out,  an'  we'll 
march  —  wall,  right  smartly  into  your  country." 
The  geography  of  the  fat  leader  Avas  evidently  defec- 
tive ;  he  did  not  care  to  assume  the  responsibility  of 
giving  any  exact  point  at  the  North  w^here  he  could 
safely  march.  "  We  is  a  heap  better  fighters  than 
you  all  is.  We  can  march  all  round  ye,  I  reckon. 
When  we  marched  up  to  Gettysburg,  our  company 
went  by  a  house  whar  they  wuz  a  couple  of  ladies 
sot  out  in  front.  I  heard  'em  whisper  like  —  'they 
march  better'n  our'n,  but  ain't  they  dirty  ? '  But  fer 
thet  twenty-nigger  law  an'  them  furreners,  we'd  'a' 
whipped  ye." 

Uncle  Nathan  was  about  to  give  his  ideas  concern- 
ing constitutional  law,  when  Bill  surprised  every  one 
by  rising  to  his  feet  as  a  gentle  intimation  that  the 
time  had  come  for  an  action  against  the  woodpile. 
The  fat  man  followed  Bill,  and  routed  the  "Pennsyl- 
vany  Dutch  "  from  their  position  in  the  sand.  He 
had,  evidently,  taken  quite  a  fancy  to  Uncle  Nathan, 
and  desired  to  reserve  the  lightest  work  for  him. 

"Bill,"  he  suggested,  "jest  load  up  them  furreners, 
an'  start  'em  in  slow  like.  I'll  sorter  take  these  yer 
Yanks  an'  git  some  light-wood."  "  Fall  in,  Yanks  I 
March ! "  and  he  indicated  with  his  hand  the  direc- 
tion in  which  the  light-wood  lay. 

The  two  men  stepped  off  with  a  farewell  glance  at 
the  patient  "Pennsylvany  Dutch;"  they  were  re- 
solved never  to  see  their  fellow-captives  again,  unless 


60  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

the  meeting  took  place  within  the  Union  lines- 
Uncle  Nathan  shook  his  head  with  grim  pleasure  at 
the  thought  of  singling  out  this  fat  gentleman,  wlio 
held  such  a  poor  opinion  of  the  fighting  qualities  of 
Maine  men.  He  meant  to  change  that  opinion  de- 
cidedly. The  melancholy  Bill  carefully  loaded  his 
Germans  with  logs.  "  Forward  !  "  he  ordered,  in  a 
doleful  whine,  and  the  gallant  "  furreners  "  started 
back  to  the  prison.  Bill  followed,  never  looking  back 
to  see  how  his  companion  fared. 

A  short  march  through  the  pines  brought  the  light- 
wood  party  to  a  pile  of  small,  well  seasoned  sticks. 
The  guard  produced  two  long  strips  of  rawhide  from 
his  pocket,  and  directed  John  and  Uncle  Nathan  to 
bind  the  sticks  into  faggots  of  convenient  size  for 
carrying.  He  sat  on  a  log  during  this  operation, 
keeping  a  close  watch  on  the  prisoners.  He  evidently 
appreciated  their  societ}^  as  far  as  it  went,  but  he  did 
not  propose  to  fall  a  victim  to  any  of  the  evils  inci- 
dent to  a  close  companionship.  When  the  faggots 
were  bound,  he  invited  the  prisoners  to  take  another 
rest  before  returning.  Uncle  Nathan  and  John  sat 
on  the  piles  of  wood,  and  the  three  men  watched 
each  other  carefully. 

It  was  a  strange  group.  The  rebel,  affable  and 
pompous,  yet  with  his  hand  on  his  revolver,  ready  to 
shoot,  at  the  least  suspicious  movement ;  the  two 
gaunt  prisoners  praying  for  a  chance  to  spring  upon 
their  companion.  The  rebel  was  evidently  curious  as 
to  the  origin  and  purpose  of  the  "  furreners." 

"  We  done  kei)tured  a  heap  of  them  fellers  at 
Chancellorsville,"    he    began.      "  Stuart    was    sent 


THE   ESCAPE  61 

ahead  to  run  some  Yanks  back,  an'  we  supported 
him.  We  fit  thar  right  smart,  fer  half  an  hour,  I 
reckon,  when  thar  kem  a  rush  an'  some  of  you  all's 
cavalry  jumped  right  inter  us.  Stuart  he  wheeled 
like  an'  tuck  'em  on  the  flank,  an'  we  closed  up  an' 
keptured  a  heap  of  'em.  They  wuz  all  Dutchmen,  an' 
I'm  doggoned  ef  they  warn't  all  tied  to  their  hosses. 
They  didn't  know  nothin'  about  reinin',  an'  them 
hosses  hed  run  away  with  'em.  Thar  we  stud  yer, 
an'  Stuart  he  kem  up  yer."  He  had  traced  the  plan 
of  the  battle  out  in  the  sand  with  the  toe  of  his  boot. 

"  You  all  never  seen  Stuart  charge,  did  ye  ?  "  To 
John's  surprise,  Uncle  Nathan  seemed  to  be  suddenly 
converted  to  the  cause  of  the  Confederacy  —  or 
rather  Stuart. 

''Wall,  I  should  think  I  had,"  returned  the  old 
man.  "  I  see  him  charge  on  our  lines  once,  an'  I 
call  it  the  grandest  sight  I  ever  see  anywhere.  He 
come  way  out  ahead  of  his  men,  waving  his  sword — 
jest  like  this  "  — 

Uncle  Nathan  had  started  from  his  seat  in  his 
great  excitement.  He  waved  his  arm  above  his 
head,  and,  to  give  a  better  illustration  of  the  action, 
he  caught  up  a  long  stick  with  a  huge  knot  at  the 
end.  The  rebel  sat  looking  on  admiringly,  all  un- 
conscious of  the  fact  that  the  height  of  Uncle 
Nathan's  ambition  was  to  bring  his  head  and  the 
knot  in  close  contact. 

"Jest  like  this,"  said  Uncle  Nathan  as  he  stepped 
nearer  and  held  the  stick  high  over  his  head.  There 
was  something  in  the  old  man's  face  that  showed  the 
rebel  that  this  was  no  idle  feat  of  gymnastics. 


52  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

"Stand  back!"  he  shouted,  reaching  for  his 
revolver. 

But  Uncle  Nathan's  blood  was  up.  It  was  life  or 
death  for  him. 

"Jest  like  this!"  he  said  coolly,  and  the  stick 
sung  a  song  of  freedom  through  the  air,  and  fell 
directly  upon  the  rebel's  head.  The  owner  of  the 
head  dropped  his  gun  and  fell  back  like  a  dead  man. 

"What  d'you  s'pose  he  thinks  about  furreners 
now  ? "  asked  the  imitator  of  Stuart,  as  he  threw 
away  his  stick. 

It  is  more  than  probable  that  the  guard  had  a 
most  profound  respect  for  the  fighting  qualities  of 
men  from  the  "  State  o'  Maine  "  ever  after. 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  The  prisoners  held 
a  hasty  consiiltation  and  assured  themselves  that  the 
fight  had  not  been  observed.  With  the  strings  of 
rawhide  they  bound  and  gagged  the  stunned  rebel. 
It  was  all  done  in  a  moment,  and  then,  securing  the 
gun  and  revolver  and  ammunition,  they  turned  to 
the  north  and  hurried  into  the  woods.  It  was  to  be 
a  desperate  race.     They  would  never  be  taken  alive. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


The  two  prisoners  had  hardly  disappeared  under 
the  trees  when  the  portly  guard  began  to  show  signs 
of  life.  His  head  was  evidently  harder  than  the 
stick.  He  had  been  left  in  a  most  undignified 
position  —  flat  on  his  face,  with  his  hands  tied  be- 
hind him.  First,  he  shook  as  much  of  his  portly 
frame  as  could  be  shaken  at  one  time  and  uttered 
some  sound  which  lost  itself  in  the  sand.  At  last, 
with  one  supreme  effort,  he  rolled  himself  over  on  to 
his  back,  where  he  could  view  a  small  portion  of  the 
world.  His  mouth  and  faoe  were  well  plastered  with 
sand  and  blood,  and  altogether  he  did  not  present  a 
most  agreeable  appearance.  He  struggled  desper- 
ately to  free  himself,  but  the  tough  strings  held  him 
fast.  He  did  his  best  to  call  for  help,  but  the  gag, 
firmly  fixed  in  his  mouth,  prevented  any  escape  of 
sound.  There  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to  lie 
on  his  back  and  wait  for  help. 

We  may  very  naturally  expect  that  his  ideas  as 
to  what  constituted  the  heart  of  the  Union  army 
changed  somewhat.  His  aching  head  must  have 
convinced  him  that  the  "furreners"  did  not  mo- 
nopolize all  the  fighting  qualities  of  the  army  after 
all.     Whatever  the  opinion  of  the  ladies  at  Gettys- 

53 


54  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

burg  might  be  in  regard  to  the  marching  of  the  two 
armies,  it  was  painfully  evident  that  men  from  the 
"  State  o'  Maine  "  knew  how  to  strike  a  good  blow. 
Our  fat  friend  might,  perhaps,  have  consoled  himself 
with  the  thought  that  he  was  not  the  first  man  to  be 
convinced  so  roughly  of  the  truth  of  a  proposition. 
There  are  plenty  of  men  whose  heads  must  be  broken 
before  the  truth  can  enter.  Truth  pounded  in  with 
a  club,  however,  is  remarkably  sure  to  stick.  Our 
friend  had  but  little  time  to  devote  to  this  thouo-ht. 
He  was  mainly  occupied  in  trying  to  clear  his  mouth 
of  sand.  He  lay,  as  it  seemed,  a  long  time  in  his 
uncomfortable  position.  The  sun  started  down  be- 
hind the  hills  and  the  first  afternoon  shadows  came 
creeping  out  from  under  the  trees  to  mock  him.  It 
was  not  until  the  shadows  had  danced  cruelly  over 
his  sandy  face  that  he  caught  the  sound  of  footsteps* 
A  moment  later  the  melancholy  face  of  Bill  came 
peering  over  the  pile  of  wood.  Bill  had  never  been 
called  a  handsome  man,  even  by  his  wife,  but  his 
face  seemed  like  the  face  of  an  angel  as  viewed 
through  the  mask  of  sand  and  blood  that  covered 
the  face  of  the  portly  victim  of  the  Maine  men. 

Bill  had  marched  his  patient  "  Pennsylvany 
Dutch  "  back  with  their  burden,  and  watched  them 
I)ass  safely  inside  the  stockade.  Well  knowing  the 
brilliant  conversational  powers  of  his  comrade,  he 
did  not  wonder  at  first  when  the  detachment  came 
not.  When,  at  last,  several  hours  went  by  without 
bringing  his  friend,  Bill  grew  anxious  and  with  a 
small  squad  came  out,  to  find  him  as  left  by  the 
prisoners.     The    bands  were    quickly   severed,  and 


sol's  victory  55 

the  wounded  guard  raised  to  his  feet.  He  told  the 
story  of  his  capture  —  giving  it  a  coloring  that  would 
have  seemed  entirely  original  to  Uncle  Nathan.  He 
told,  with  what  articulation  the  sand  had  left  him, 
how,  after  a  most  heroic  defence,  he  had  been  over- 
powered. It  was  certainly  wonderful  how  bravely 
he  had  fought  the  two  prisoners,  and  how  seriously 
he  had,  in  all  probability,  wounded  Uncle  Nathan. 
The  squad  of  soldiers  marched  back  to  the  prison, 
listening  to  his  thrilling  recital. 

Half  an  hour  later,  a  small  company  of  men 
marched  rapidly  up  the  hill  in  the  direction  of  the 
scene  of  the  struggle.  Two  negroes  led  the  way, 
holding  b&ck  by  means  of  strong  ropes  a  blood- 
hound —  broad-breasted  and  dark.  Long  Bill  led  the 
way,  his  melancholy  face  glowing  with  something 
like  excitement  as  he  marched  on  ahead.  The  fat 
gentleman  did  not  come.  He  stayed  at  the  barracks 
to  nurse  his  wounds  and  stir  the  patriotism  of  his 
comrades  with  his  thrilling  stor}^  of  the  conflict. 

The  company  halted  at  the  place  where  Uncle 
Nathan  had  given  such  a  careful  imitation  of  Stu- 
art's mode  of  attack.  The  tracks  of  the  prisoners 
were  plainly  visible  leading  off  into  the  forest.  The 
hound  put  his  nose  to  the  ground,  and,  with  a  low, 
deep  sound,  trotted  off  into  the  pines  —  on  the  trail. 
The  chase  had  begun.  The  soldiers  followed  the 
dog  with  their  arms  ready  for  instant  service. 

Uncle  Nathan  and  John  ran  as  men  run  who  see 
life  held  up  before  them  as  a  prize.  They  had  no 
definite  route.  Their  great  object  was  to  put  as 
many  miles  as  possible  between  themselves  and  the 


66  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

stockade,  and  then  by  the  aid  of  friendly  negroes  to 
determine  their  course.  They  well  understood  that 
they  would  be  followed,  and  possibly  caught  up 
with,  but  they  were  determined  never  to  be  taken 
back.  With  the  weapons  they  carried,  a  good  de- 
fence could  be  made.  On,  on  they  hurried^  as  rapidly 
as  possible.  Through  sand-beds  thick  with  clinging 
briars,  over  fallen  logs  and  stumps,  through  swamps 
and  dense  thickets,  still  on  they  pressed,  for  freedom 
lay  before  —  death  behind. 

Uncle  Nathan  carried  the  musket.  He  had  fas- 
tened the  bayonet  to  the  end,  even  though  it  im- 
peded his  progress.  He  was  ready  for  immediate 
action.  John  carried  the  revolver,  loaded  and 
capped.  He  followed  doggedly  in  Uncle  Nathan's 
footsteps.  He  felt  frequently  for  the  letter  under 
his  vest.  Archie  was  lying  dead  behind  them,  but 
Nellie  was  before,  and  he  stili  pushed  on,  though 
his  wounded  leg  tortured  liim  at  every  step.  Once, 
when  they  stopped  to  drink  at  a  little  brook,  John 
examined  his  leg.  It  was  badly  swollen  and  was 
slowly  bleeding.  He  bathed  it  in  the  cool  water 
and  drew  the  bandage  tighter.  Uncle  Nathan 
watched  him  grimly. 

"Can  ye  make  it?"  he  asked,  pointing  off  into 
the  forest. 

"I'll  make  it  or  drop,"  said  John,  between  his 
teeth,  and  Uncle  Nathan  again  pushed  on,  chuckling 
in  his  silent  way  at  the  "  grit  "  of  the  men  from 
"  our  town." 

Twice  they  came  upon  dwellings.  Hurrying  on 
through  a  thick  growth  of  young  trees,  they  came 


sol's  victory  57 

suddenly  to  the  edge  of  a  large  clearing,  and  stopped 
just  in  time  to  escape  detection.  It  was  a  typical 
plantation  ;  once  prosperous  and  rich,  but  now,  after 
three  years  of  neglect,  fallen  to  decay.  The  fields 
were  grown  up  with  weeds,  the  fences  were  down, 
and  the  stock  roamed  idly  about.  The  old  house 
seemed  to  have  crept  back  under  the  trees,  into  the 
shadow  and  gloom,  where  it  could  brood  over  its 
sorrows  in  secret.  An  old,  white-haired  man  sat  on 
the  piazza,  with  his  head  on  his  breast ;  dull,  with 
the  sense  of  his  wrongs,  without  the  energy  or  cour- 
age to  repair  the  damages.  It  was  a  picture  of  utter 
despair  —  of  lonely  helplessness.  As  the  fugitives 
halted  at  the  edge  of  the  clearing,  two  gaunt  hounds, 
in  fall  keeping  with  the  rest  of  the  picture,  rose 
from  beside  the  old  man's  chair,  and  looked  eagerly 
in  the  direction  of  the  disturbers.  At  a  gesture  from 
their  master,  they  dropped  slowly  down  again  at  his 
side.  The  fugitives  crept  back  into  the  forest,  and, 
skirting  the  edge  of  the  clearing,  again  plunged  out 
of  sight. 

A  mile  beyond  the  first  house  they  came  upon 
another  plantation.  They  dropped  under  a  bush  to 
examine  the  premises.  The  house  stood  at  quite  a 
distance,  but  the  negro  quarters  were  close  at  hand. 
The  same  look  of  disorder  and  neglect  pervaded  the 
whole  place.  They  were  about  to  regain  their  feet 
and  go  back  into  the  forest  when  the  sound  of  a 
falling  axe  fell  on  their  ears.  It  was  apparently 
close  at  hand,  and,  after  a  moment's  hesitation. 
Uncle  Nathan  pushed  the  branches  aside  and  peered 
out   in   the   direction  from  which  the  sound  came. 


68  ANDERSON  VILLE   VIOLETS 

An  old  negro,  white-haired  and  bent  with  age,  was 
cutting  wood  from  a  large  log.  To  the  desperate 
fugitives  tliis  poor  old  darky  seemed  like  an  angel. 
They  did  not  liesitate  to  push  their  way  toward  him, 
and  attract  his  attention.  Uncle  Nathan  dropped 
the  point  of  his  gun  and  tried  to  bring  his  grizzled 
face  into  a  smile.  As  the  two  ragged  and  desperate- 
looking  men  rose  from  beneath  the  bushes  and 
moved  toward  him,  the  old  slave  dropped  his  axe 
and  fell  upon  his  knees. 

"  Go  'wa}^,"  he  muttered,  ''  I  ain't  done  nuffin'.  I 
jes  cuttin'  wood  fo'  ole  miss." 

"  It's  all  right,  uncle,"  assured  John  as  they  neared 
the  old  slave.     "  We  are  friends  —  prisoners." 

Tlie  old  man  changed  his  manner  at  once,  at  this 
announcement.  He  rose  hastily  to  his  feet  and 
glanced  around  as  if  to  assure  himself  that  they  were 
alone. 

"  Dops  you  meanter  say  dat  you  is  pris'ners? 
Dat  you  is  Massa  Linkum's  men  ?  I  jes  wanter 
look  at  youse."  And  the  old  fellow  came  nearer, 
and  peered  with  cam  eyes  into  their  faces. 

John  told  the  story  of  their  escape  witli  simple 
directness.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  talking  to 
a  child. 

"  What  is  our  best  road,  uncle,  and  where  can  we 
get  something  to  eat  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

The  old  slave  shook  his  head  uneasily  during  the 
story,  and,  at  the  question,  looked  hesitatingly  about 
him. 

"Is  youse  afeared  of  dorgs?"  he  asked,  ner- 
vously. 


sol's  victory  59 

"No,  not  a  mite,"  growled  Uncle  Nathan,  shaking 
his  musket.     ''  I  won't  run  fer  no  dog." 

'*I  is  mighty  glad  you  ain't,"  suggested  the 
negro,  "  'case  I  zs,  an'  'case  der'll  be  dorgs  arter  youse 
afo'  morning,  sho's  yo'  born.  Dey  will  be  arter 
youse  wid  de  po'fullest  dorg  yo'  eber  seen,  I  reckon. 
Dorgs  dat  jes  tar  you  all  up.  I's  seed  dem  go  by  — 
I  has.  Dey  is  biz'ness  dorgs,  dey  is.  Dey  is  biz'ness 
work  'roun'  yer  when  dem  dorgs  gits  arter  man,  an' 
dey'U  get  arter  you  all  fo'  you  knows  it,  I  reckon  "  — 
and  he  looked  nervously  about  him  again. 

"I  tell  you  what,  boss,"  he  said,  after  a  little 
thinking.  *'Ef  youse  is  man  'nuff  ter  kill  dat  dorg, 
you  is  all  right,  I  reckon.  Ef  you  kin  get  shet  ob 
him,  I  kin  see  you  fru.  I's  got  a  boy  hidin'  to  my 
cabin.  He  cum  from  whar  dey  is  fitin'  at,  an  ef  you 
kin  get  shet  ob  dat  dorg,  you  all  kin  go  back  wid 
him.  Dey  ain't  no  safe  place  fer  you  er  me  jes  ez 
long  ez  dat  dorg  is  on  yo'  track  "  —  and  he  peered 
out  into  the  forest,  as  if  expecting  to  see  the  terrible 
animal  approaching  them. 

Uncle  Nathan  was  quick  to  see  the  sense  of  the 
old  darky's  advice. 

''  He's  right,"  he  said  to  John ;  "  we've  got  to 
fight  'em,  an'  we  might  jest  as  well  do  it  fust  as  last. 
You  go  home,  ole  feller,"  he  said  to  the  negro,  "  an' 
fix  us  up  somethin'  t'  eat.  We'll  either  leave  that 
dog  dead  out  y under,  or  never  come  near  ye  agin," 
and  he  shook  his  musket,  as  if  to  add  force  to  his 
declaration. 

The  old  negro  looked  at  Uncle  Nathan  admiringly. 
"  You  is  a  man^  you  is,"  he  said,  as  he  picked  up  his 


60  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

axe  and  moved  stiffly  away.  He  paused  for  a 
moment  to  give  them  some  needed  instructions. 
*'  When  youse  come  back,  yo'  jes'  stan'  where  dat  big 
tree  is  at  an'  whistle,  an'  I'll  send  my  boy  out  ter 
bring  youse  in.  But  done  you  come  yer  ontil  youse 
kill  dat  dorg,"  and  he  hobbled  off  again. 

He  was  soon  lost  to  sight,  for  the  light  was  rapidly 
losinof  itself  under  the  trees.  The  darkness  thick- 
ened  and  crowded  in  upon  them  as  the  fugitives 
made  their  plans.  They  sat  for  a  few  moments  on 
the  log,  talking  earnestly.  Then  they  walked  slowly 
into  the  forest,  watching  only  for  a  good  defensive 
position.  They  did  not  hurry  now,  for  they  were 
only  anxious  to  meet  their  pursuers.  Weary  and 
faint  with  hunger  and  pain,  John  stumbled  on  un- 
steadily. Uncle  Nathan  seemed  tireless.  About 
half  a  mile  from  the  log  they  came  upon  a  place 
most  admirably  suited  to  their  purpose.  Under  a 
great  pine  a  cleared  space  gave  ample  opportunity 
for  defensive  operations.  A  high  thicket  of  briars 
and  heavy  bushes  rose  in  front  like  a  wall.  A  little 
glade  beyond  made  it  impossible  for  pursuers  to 
approach  unobserved.  Uncle  Nathan  placed  his 
musket  against  the  tree  and  glanced  over  the  place 
with  great  satisfaction. 

'^  We'll  stand  'em  off  here,  I  guess,"  he  said, 
grimly.  "  Might  jes'  well  fight  it  out  here  as  any- 
where." 

Had  he  been  perfectly  acquainted  with  the  coun- 
try lie  could  hardly  have  selected  a  better  place. 

John  dropped  upon  the  soft  pine  needles,  thank- 
ful for  the  chance  to  rest.     He  drew  his  revolver  and 


sol's  victory  61 

placed  it  upon  the  ground  beside  him,  ready  for 
instant  service.  Uncle  Nathan  crouched  in  the 
shadow  of  the  tree,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  space 
over  which  the  dreaded  bloodhound  must  come. 
What  were  they  thinking  about,  waiting  there  in  the 
solitude  ?  Of  the  hateful  prison,  with  all  the  horrors 
they  had  left  behind  them,  or  the  home  before,  where 
the  wife  and  the  little  girl  were  waiting  ?  Is  it  not 
true  that  at  such  times,  when  we  sit  down  with  grim 
determination  to  wait  the  coming  of  our  fate,  when 
we  feel  that  retreat  is  cut  off,  that  the  better,  purer 
thoughts  crowd  into  our  minds,  and  the  cruel,  hate- 
ful past  is  dropped  for  the  time  ?  The  moon  came 
slowly  up  over  the  trees.  It  did  not  hurry  over 
Andersonville  as  the  sun  had  done.  Its  feebler  light 
could  not  search  into  all  the  dark  corners  and  push 
out  the  horrors  that  crouched  there.  Slowly  and 
peacefully  it  sailed  over  the  heavens,  painting  the 
earth  with  beauty,  transforming  hideous  shapes,  at  a 
touch  of  its  mellow  light,  into  beautiful  things. 

The  little  glade,  so  eagerly  watched  by  the  fugi- 
tives, seemed,  as  the  moonlight  swept  down  into  it, 
a  very  sporting  place  for  fairies.  The  moonbeams 
danced  riglit  royally  along  the  stumps  and  grasses. 
The  thicket,  behind  which  the  men  were  sheltered, 
seemed  changed  into  a  row  of  hideous  creatures,  that 
scowled  grimly  over  the  little  glade,  and  reached  out 
with  long  arms  to  push  back  all  intruders.  The 
moonlight  stole  down  behind  the  thicket.  It  glit- 
tered along  the  barrel  of  Uncle  Nathan's  musket, 
gleamed  on  the  fixed  bayonet,  and  touched  the  griz- 
zled face  of  the  stern  sentinel  into  something  like 


62  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

tenderness,  for  the  same  moon  had  looked  into  the 
faces  of  "  the  folks  "  at  home.  It  was  only  for  a 
moment  that  the  ragged  form  under  the  tree  was 
seen.  Uncle  Nathan  crept  back  under  the  shadow, 
where  the  moon  could  not  follow.  For  an  hour  they 
waited  in  silence.  Then,  suddenly,  Uncle  Nathan 
rose  to  his  knees,  and  brought  the  musket  to  his 
shoulder.  The  bayonet  flashed  out  in  the  moon- 
light. John  grasped  his  revolver,  and  drew  up  under 
the  thicket. 

A  slight  rustle  was  heard  on  the  other  side  of 
the  glade,  and,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  a  man 
stepped  out  into  the  open  space,  and  stood  where  the 
light  fell  directly  upon  him.  He  carried  a  package 
in  one  hand,  while  the  other  was  held  up  above  him. 
There  were  two  things  that  caused  the  musket  to 
lower.  The  face  of  the  new-comer  was  the  face  of  a 
negro.  At  his  belt,  the  letters  "U.  S."  flashed  into 
view.  Both  were  symbols  of  brotherhood  to  the 
fugitives.  The  man  advanced  a  few  steps,  and  again 
held  up  his  hand. 

"Haiti  who  goes  there?"  challenged  Uncle  Na- 
than, from  his  post  under  the  tree. 

"  Fren' !  "  came  the  answer  in  the  unmistakable 
accent  of  a  negro. 

''  Advance,  friend,  and  give  the  countersign,"  again 
came  the  hoarse  whisper. 

''  Rations,"  was  the  answer,  and  the  package  was 
held  up  in  front. 

"  Pass,  friend,  with  the  countersign,"  and  the  mus- 
ket dropped,  and  John  opened  the  thicket. 

The  man  passed  through  this  opening  and  stood 


sol's  victory  6S 

before  them.  A  tall,  Avell  formed  negro,  wearing  the 
pants,  belt,  and  cap  of  the  Union  army.  He  carried 
a  bag  in  his  hand,  which  he  threw  on  the  ground  be- 
side them. 

His  story  was  quickly  whispered.  He  was  the 
''boy"  of  whom  the  old  negro  had  spoken.  A  sol- 
dier in  the  Union  arm}^,  he  had  left  Sherman  to  visit 
the  old  folks.  He  was  hiding  by  da}^,  waiting  for 
this  very  chance  of  guiding  prisoners  back  to  the 
Union  lines.  His  father  had  told  him  of  the  adven- 
ture at  the  log,  and,  careless  of  the  danger  from  the 
dreaded  dog,  he  had  followed  them  with  a  supply  of 
food.  He  was  ready  to  fight  with  them.  He  told 
his  story  simply,  and  then  stood  waiting  for  tlieir  re- 
ply. His  race  is  inferior,  tliey  sa}^  He  never  can 
lift  himself  oat  of  his  inferiority,  and  yet,  what  can 
we  say  when  such  men  go  to  the  very  end  of  daring? 

John  and  Uncle  Nathan  thought  nothing  of  their 
new  comrade's  color.  They  shook  his  hand  and  wel- 
comed him  heartily.  Sol  —  for  such  he  gave  his 
name  —  took  Uncle  Nathan's  gun  and  advanced  to 
the  thicket,  to  stand  on  guard  while  the  others  ate 
the  food  that  he  had  brousrht. 

"'Tain't  much,  boss,"  he  whispered,  "but  we  git 
mo',  I  reckon,  when  we  go  back." 

The  repast  was  certainly  a  frugal  one  —  a  great 
corn-cake  and  a  dozen  baked  potatoes.  Frugal 
tliough  it  was,  it  seemed  delicious  enough  to  the 
hungry  prisoners,  and  they  ate  greedily,  on  their 
knees,  with  the  sack  between  them.  The  meal 
came  to  an  end  all  too  soon,  and  they  rose  for  a 
consultation.     At  a  sudden  "  hush  ! "  from  Sol,  they 


64  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

all  crept  under  the  thicket  to  listen.  The  sharp  ear 
of  the  negro  had  detected  the  approach  of  the  pursu- 
ing party.  He  listened  earnestly  for  a  moment,  and 
then  gave  the  musket  back  to  Uncle  Nathan. 

"Dat  dorg  done  got  away  from  dem,"  he  whis- 
pered. "  I  fix  him,"  and  he  drew  a  long  knife  from 
his  belt,  and  crept  through  the  thicket  and  across 
the  open  space.  At  the  edge  of  the  glade  he  halted, 
and,  assuring  himself  of  the  dog's  approach,  he 
crouched  in  the  shadow  of  a  log  to  wait.  Uncle 
Nathan  cocked  his  musket  and  placed  it  in  position. 
In  a  few  moments  the  dog,  entirely  ignorant  of  the 
fate  awaiting  him,  could  be  distinctly  heard  running 
through  the  bushes. 

The  squad  from  the  prison  had  followed  rapidly 
on  the  trail.  The  bloodhound  made  savage  attempts 
to  break  awa}^  but  the  strong  keepers  held  him  fast. 
He  trotted  with  his  nose  on  the  ground,  pulling  im- 
patiently on  the  cords  that  held  him,  and  tearing  at 
the  muzzle  over  his  jaws.  Led  by  Bill,  the  soldiers 
followed  in  single  file.  The  sun  went  down,  but  the 
party  still  pressed  on  through  the  pines.  The  moon 
gave  them  ample  light  for  their  purpose.  All  went 
well  till  the  party  reached  the  log  where  the  old  ne- 
gro had  been  chopping.  They  halted  a  moment  to 
rest  and  consult,  when  the  dog,  with  one  sudden  and 
impatient  bound,  broke  away  from  the  negroes  and 
sprang  into  the  shadow  alone.  The  keepers,  fearful 
of  the  punishment  due  them,  slid  into  the  thicket, 
and  hid  from  sight.  The  soldiers  followed  the  dog, 
as  best  they  could,  though  their  course  was  but  slow 
through  the  thick  bushes.     Thus  it  was  that  the  dog 


sol's  victory  65 

came  bounding  on  alone  to  the  glade  where  Sol  was 
waiting  him.  It  seemed  almost  an  age  to  the  two 
men  under  the  tree,  before  the  hound  burst  through 
into  the  moonlight.  The  great  ugly  head  fiercely 
thrust  itself  through  the  thicket,  and  halted  for  an 
instant,  as  if  surprised. 

Sol  started  from  the  shadow,  with  his  knife  in  his 
right  hand  and  a  thick  stick  in  his  left.  He  ad- 
vanced straight  to  the  beast,  with  the  club  held  be- 
fore him,  and  the  knife  held  at  the  side.  John  rose 
to  his  feet  the  better  to  view  the  strange  combat. 
The  fierce  eyes  of  the  hound  glittered  in  the  moon- 
light. He  could  utter  no  loud  sound,  for  the  thick 
muzzle  held  his  jaws  firmly  together.  Through  his 
drawn  lips  the  white  teeth  gleamed,  and  great  drops 
of  foam  fell  from  his  tongue.  He  drew  back  as  the 
negro  advanced,  and  like  a  flash  sprang  savagely  at 
the  club  that  Sol  cunningly  held  in  front  of  him. 
Sol  stepped  to  one  side,  and,  with  one  sickening 
blow,  drove  his  knife  into  the  dog's  neck.  The 
animal  turned  in  its  agony,  and  fell  heavily  upon 
its  side.  Sol  sprang  upon  the  hound,  and  plunged 
his  knife  again  and  again  into  the  throat.  The  poor^ 
animal,  muzzled  as  he  was,  could  offer  but  a  feeble 
resistance.  In  a  short  time  he  lay  motionless.  He 
had  followed  the  trail  to  his  death.  After  satisfying 
himself  that  the  hound  was  dead,  Sol  came  back  .un- 
der the  tree  where  the  others  were  waiting.  He 
coolly  wiped  the  blood  from  liis  knife  with  a  bunch 
of  pine-needles,  and  knelt  in  the  shadow  to  wait  the 
pursuing  party,  who  now  followed  the  dog. 

Long    Bill   and   his   friends    came  at  last.     They 


(j(j  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

came  crashing  through  the  underbrush  without  the 
least  attempt  at  conceahnent.  The  first  intimation 
of  the  dire  disaster  that  had  fallen  upon  them  was 
the  mutilated  body  of  the  dead  dog,  which  they 
found  as  they  broke  through  the  thicket  into  the 
little  glade.  Bill,  who  was  leading,  stopped  in  hor- 
ror at  this  unexpected  sight,  and  the  others  gathered 
about  him  where  tlie  watchers  could  easily  examine 
them.  There  were  nine  in  the  party.  Uncle  Nathan 
covered  Bill  with  his  musket,  while  John  took  good 
aim  at  another ;  Sol  grasped  his  knife,  ready  to 
spring  into  the  crowd  if  necessary.  Had  the  squad 
of  rebels  pushed  on  across  the  glade,  a  bloody  fight 
would  have  ensued,  for  the  fugitives,  driven  to  des- 
peration, would  never  have  yielded.  But  Long  Bill 
and  his  party  never  came  by  the  dead  hound.  There 
was  something  terrible  to  them  in  this  mysterious 
murder  of  the  ferocious  dog  that  had  followed  so 
many  prisoners  to  the  death.  There  he  lay  before 
them  mangled  and  bloody.  A  few  moments  before 
he  had  been  full  of  savage  life.  They  had  heard  no 
outcry,  no  sound  of  a  struggle.  Some  mysterious 
power,  silent  and  terrible,  had  reached  between  them 
and  their  victims.  They  knew  not  in  what  dark 
shadow  this  terrible  power  might  even  now  be  lurk- 
ing. They  glanced  nervously  at  the  thicket  before 
them.  Long,  eager  arms  seemed  to  reach  out  to 
threaten  them.  They  turned,  after  a  short  hesita- 
tion, back  out  of  the  moonlight.  After  a  whispered 
consultation  under  the  trees,  they  marched,  with 
many  a  nervous  glance,  away  from  the  fated  ground 


sol's  victory  67 

where  the  dead  dog  was  lying.  They  crept  together 
ill  the  darkness,  and  walked  hurriedly  on. 

Back  near  the  log  where  the  great  mistake  of  the 
expedition  had  been  made,  a  badly  frightened  object 
rolled  out  in  front  of  them.  It  was  one  of  tlie 
negroes  that  had  tried  to  hold  the  hound  in  check. 
Bill  grasped  the  black  keeper  by  the  neck  and 
brought  him  into  the  moonlight. 

"  Whar  ye  been  hidin'  at,  ye  nigger?" 

The  darky,  never  at  a  loss  for  a  story,  told  with 
chattering  teeth  his  imaginary  version  of  the  causes 
that  led  to  the  dog's  death. 

"You  jes  orter  have  seed  him,  boss,"  he  said,  with 
widely  protruding  eyes.  "I  done  tole  you  dat  he 
was  a  man.  He  jes  grab  dat  dorg  and  shuck  de  life 
outer  him,  jes  like  I  shake  a  rabbit.  He  was  a  man 
I  done  tole  you." 

Bill  kicked  the  black  story-teller  to  one  side.  It 
is  not  known  whether  the  soldiers  took  the  story  for 
the  truth  or  not.  They  certainly  did  not  stop  to  dis- 
cuss it.  They  marched  sullenly  back  through  the 
woods  to  Andersonville,  and  certain  it  is  that  the 
Maine  men  never  set  eyes  on  them  again. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   NEGRO   CABIN 

The  fugitives  waited  under  the  trees  long  after 
the  sound  of  the  retreating  footsteps  had  died  away. 
They  were  not  sure  that  this  retreat  might  not  be 
designed  to  draw  them  from  their  hiding-place.  At 
last  they  crept  cautiously  from  under  the  thicket, 
and  followed  the  trail  back  to  the  log.  Sol  led  the 
way,  with  his  long  knife  drawn  and  ready.  He  could 
not  help  kicking  the  hated  dog  as  they  passed  him. 
Uncle  Nathan  brought  up  the  rear  with  his  musket 
on  his  arm.  At  the  log  Sol  left  the  others  to  follow 
the  prison  squad  alone.  He  seemed  to  have  the 
instinct  of  a  hound,  for  he  struck  directly  into  the 
trail.  In  half  an  hour  he  returned  with  the  joyful 
news  that  Bill  and  the  soldiers  had  surely  gone  back. 

"Come,"  he  said,  pointing  over  the  log,  "les  go 
git  supper." 

John  was  weak  and  tired.  His  leg  troubled  him 
exceedingly.  Even  Uncle  Nathan  began  to  show 
signs  of  fatigue.  They  gladly  followed  Sol  as  he 
pushed  off  in  the  direction  that  the  old  negro  had 
taken.  A  short  walk  brought  them  to  a  brook,  into 
which  Sol  deliberately  walked.  The  others  followed 
him,  and  together  they  waded  against  the  current. 

"  Fro'  udder  dorg  off  de  track,"  said  Sol  shortly. 


THE   NEGRO   CABIN"  69 

The   others  said  nothing.     They  had  resigned   the 
leadership  to  the  negro. 

At  a  distance  of  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the 
place  where  they  entered  the  brook,  the  water  sud- 
denly spread  out,  forming  a  wide,  shallow  pond. 
Through  this  they  waded,  splashing  through  the 
shining  water,  coming  out  at  last  under  a  thick 
grove.  Following  Sol  still,  they  passed  on  through 
the  trees,  over  a  meadow,  up  a  sand  hill,  through  a 
small  corn-field,  and  halted  at  last  before  a  little  log 
cabin  with  a  mud-and-stick  chimney  built  at  one  end. 
Sol  stepped  forward  and  gave  three  sharp  raps  at 
the  door.  In  a  moment  tlie  door  partly  opened  and 
a  white  head  thrust  itself  out. 

"  Is  dat  youse,  Solemon  ? "  The  voice  was  one 
that  the  fugitives  remembered. 

"  Yes,  I's  here,"  said  Sol.     "  Open  de  do'." 
But  the   slight  opening  did  not  grow  any  wider. 
Tiie  old  man  wished  to  settle  all  questions  concern- 
ing  that  "dorg"  before    he    presented   his  visitors 
with  the  freedom  of  his  cabin. 

"Has  youse  killed  dat  dorg?"  he  asked  with  a 
tremor  in  his  voice.  "Ef  he  come  snuffin'  roun'  yer, 
hit's  sho'  def  fo'  de  hull  gang." 

"I  reckon  he's  dead  sho'  'nuff.  'Pears  like  he 
neber  vote  again,"  answered  Sol  as  he  pushed  against 
the  door. 

"  Is  yo'  pojul  sho'  ?  "  urged  the  old  man. 
Uncle  Nathan  came  to  the  rescue. 
"  He's  jest  as  dead  's  a  door  nail.     I'll  warrant  3^e 
he  won't  do  no  more  runnin',"  lie  said,  in  his  most  . 
assuring  tone> 


70  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

"Dat*s  all  right!  dat's  all  right!"  apologized  the 
old  man,  as  he  hastily  opened  the  door  and  moved 
aside  to  make  room  for  them  to  enter.  *'  I  is  po'ful 
glad  fer  ter  har  it.  I  wouldn't  have  dat  dorg  snuf- 
fin'  roun'  yer  for  nuffin  't  all." 

The  three  men  passed  into  the  room.  Sol  closed 
the  door  and  fastened  it  securely  with  a  stout  stick. 
The  two  white  men  looked  about  them  with  curious 
eyes.  There  was  no  light  save  that  which  came  from 
a  low  fire  in  the  chimney-place.  This  light  was 
nearly  obscured  by  the  forms  of  two  negro  women 
who  knelt  before  it,  stirring  the  contents  of  several 
dishes  that  were  cooking  over  the  fire.  The  supper 
thus  being  prepared  sent  up  a  most  delicious  odor  of 
fried  meat  and  coffee.  The  two  women  at  last 
moved  away  from  their  position  in  front  of  the  fire, 
and  the  unobstructed  light  enabled  the  fugitives  to 
view  the  room.  The  place  was  bare  and  rude,  yet 
the  light  burst  bravely  out  and  did  its  best  with  the 
rough  picture.  It  was  a  common  negro's  cabin  — 
the  home  of  slavery  —  yet  it  seemed  the  most  like 
home  of  anything  the  two  white  men  had  seen  for 
years.  They  felt  that  they  were  among  friends  who 
would  die  for  them  if  necessary,  and  never  ask  for  a 
nobler  death.  The  great  blindness  of  friendship  and 
love  will  cover  up  many  an  imperfection  that  would 
seem  bare  enough  in  the  house  of  a  stranger. 

The  room  was  small  and  low.  There  was  no  plas- 
tering upon  the  walls,  made  of  rough  logs.  The 
thin  coating  of  whitewash  that  had  once  done  its 
best  to  add  respectability  to  the  logs,  had  about 
given  up  the  contest.     It  was  discolored  and  rubbed, 


THE   NEGRO   CABIN  71 

and  in  many  places  the  original  color  of  the  logs 
grinned  through  its  feebleness.  The  floor  was  full 
of  great  cracks,  along  whose  edges  barbarous  splin- 
ters watched  savagely  for  barefooted  pedestrians. 
In  one  corner  a  board  had  broken  in,  and  a  wooden 
bench  guarded  the  foot  trap  but  poorly.  The  small 
windows  were  covered  with  wooden  shutters,  and 
the  crack  under  the  door  was  carefully  covered  with 
an  old  coat.  The  only  circulation  of  air  was  that 
which  entered  at  the  cracks  in  the  floor  and  found 
an  exit  through  the  chimney.  The  furniture  was 
simple  enough.  Three  chairs  scattered  about  the 
room,  a  small  table,  and  a  bed  made  up  the  mov- 
able articles.  A  shelf  for  cooking  utensils  and 
dishes  was  fastened  to  the  wall,  near  the  fire.  It 
was  nearly  empty,  for  most  of  the  dishes  had  been 
placed  on  the  table,  which  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  room.  A  sheet  had  been  spread  on  the  table, 
and  the  various  tin  dishes  and  cups  placed  upon  it, 
in  preparation  for  the  meal.  The  light  danced  out 
from  the  fire  over  the  shining  dishes,  and  darted  up 
on  the  dull  walls.  Like  a  brave  friend,  it  made  the 
best  parts  of  the  whitewash  seem  lighter,  and  kept 
entirely  away  from  the  bare  places.  It  danced  ahead 
of  the  old  negro's  bare  feet  and  showed  him  the 
long  splinters  in  the  floor. 

Uncle  Nathan  placed  his  musket  behind  the  door 
and  gazed  about  him  with  a  satisfaction  that  was  not 
in  the  least  dampened  by  the  odor  arising  from  the 
cooking.  The  women,  Sol's  mother  and  sister, 
ducked  their  heads  to  the  new-comers,  and  then 
went  back  to  their  cooking,  again  shutting  out  the 


72  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

greater  part  of  the  light.  The  best  reception  they 
could  possibly  give  lay  in  the  dishes  they  watched 
so  carefully. 

The  old  negro  hastened  to  do  the  honors.  He 
and  Sol  brought  chairs  for  Uncle  Nathan  and  John, 
and  the  tired  men  sat  down  at  last  with  a  great 
feeling  of  security.  Sol  brought  water  and  bathed 
John's  wounded  leg,  and  placed  the  bandage  se- 
curely. The  old  man  hovered  about,  muttering  and 
whispering  his  pleasure  at  being  able  to  do  some- 
thing for  Massa  Linkum's  men.  This  was  the  great 
event  of  his  life  and  he  meant  to  make  the  most  of 
it.  At  last  the  women  brought  their  pans  to  the 
table  and  poured  the  supper  into  the  tin  dishes. 
Uncle  Nathan  and  John  watched  with  hungry  eyes. 
There  was  but  little  chance  for  conversation,  for 
they  all  knew  that  a  single  loud  word  might  betray 
them.  The  women,  with  a  motion  of  the  hand,  indi- 
cated the  fact  that  supper  was  served,  and  Sol  and 
his  father  pushed  the  chairs  up  to  the  table  and 
then  stood  respectfullj'  behind  their  guests.  Uncle 
Nathan  motioned  Sol  to  bring  a  third  chair  to  the 
table  and  take  a  seat  with  them,  but  the  young  man 
shook  his  head.     He  knew  or  rather  felt  his  phice. 

And  Uncle  Nathan,  with  a  sweet  memory  of  home 
in  his  heart,  bowed  his  head  for  a  moment,  over  the 
table,  in  thankfulness.  The  firelight  flashed  out 
over  them.  Over  the  grizzled  soldier,  who  had 
fought  so  savagely,  over  the  young  hero  who  had 
felt  the  letter  over  liis  heart  throb  an  answer  to  the 
prayer,  over  the  worn  old  slave,  childish  and  feeble, 
over  the  lion-like  black  soldier  and   the  women,  all 


THE  NEGRO   CABIN  73 

thankful,  though  they  knew  not  what   the    future 
might  be. 

No  one  can  tell  how  tlie  two  soldiers  enjoyed  that 
supper.  The  fried  chicken,  the  baked  potatoes,  tlie 
coffee,  the  corn  bread,  and  the  fried  pork  seemed 
most  delicious  after  the  long  session  of  prison  food. 
The  old  negro  brought  a  pine  knot  from  the  fire 
and  held  it  over  them  for  a  light.  He  muttered  a 
few  words  of  explanation  as  the  meal  proceeded. 
The  coffee  was  such  a  great  luxury  that  he  felt 
called  upon  to  expatiate  upon  its  merits. 

"  Dat  ar's  sho'  'nuff  coffy,  dat  is,"  he  said,  as  he 
held  the  torch  for  Uncle  Nathan  to  fill  the  tin  cup. 
"  Soleman  brung  dat  coffy  from  way  up  yunder.  We's 
been  bilin'  corn  an'  all  dat,  but  dis  yer  sho'  'nuff  coify 
is  worf  a  heap  ob  corn.  Hit's  po'ful  strong,  an'  one 
pinch  will  build  up  dis  yer  play  co&y  mightily." 

After  the  supper  a  short  council  of  war  was  held. 
The  four  men  talked  in  whispers  while  the  women 
listened  in  the  corner.  It  was  at  last  decided  to 
trust  to  Sol's  guidance  and  make  an  effort  to  reach 
Sherman's  army.  They  decided  to  start  before  day- 
break, and,  by  a  forced  march,  reach  a  place  where 
they  might  rest  in  safety.  The}'-  were  to  trust 
everything  to  Sol.  This  plan  decided  upon,  the 
two  white  men  lay  down  upon  the  bed  to  secure  a 
short  rest.  Sol  and  his  father,  with  the  sleeplessness 
of  the  negro,  watched  through  the  night,  with  the 
musket  and  the  revolver  close  at  hand.  How  easily 
they  could  have  secured  their  guests  and  turned 
them  over  to  the  prison  guards.  Many  a  white  man 
would  have  done  it,  but  these  poor  negroes,  fearful 


74  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

and  ignorant,  still  felt  that  these  men  had  come  to 
free  them,  and  they  would  gladly  have  died  in 
defending  their  guests. 

It  was  still  dusk  when  Sol  touched  the  sleepers. 

"  Time  fo'  startin',  boss,"  he  whispered,  as  the 
tired  men  opened  their  eyes. 

Breakfast  was  waiting  them,  and  the  three  men  — 
Sol  joined  them  this  time — made  a  hasty  meal. 
The  old  man  and  his  family  probably  went  on  short 
rations  for  some  time  to  pay  for  this  collation,  but 
they  were  willing  to  fast  in  a  good  cause.  With  a 
whispered  "  good-by "  the  soldiers  prepared  to  go. 
They  were  glad  to  shake  hands  with  all  the  members 
of  the  family.  The  old  man  laid  his  thin  hand  on 
Sol's  broad  shoulder. 

"Solemon,"  he  said,  "you  wants  ter  be  a  good 
boy  an'  fite  de  bes'  yo'  knows  fo'  ole  Massa  Linkum. 
Done  yo' neber  do  nuffin  agin  him.  Hit  don't  make 
no  odds  about  us  down  yer.  We's  mighty  nigh  fit 
out  enyhow,  I  reckon.  Dey  kin  kill  de  ole  man,  but 
dey  can't  neber  break  down  dis  yer  ole  flag.  Tears 
like  I  want  to  see  dat  ole  flag  onct  mo'.  Done  yo' 
ebber  make  me  an'  yo'  ole  mammy  ashamed  ob 
youse,  Solemon.  You  is  a  good  boy,  an'  I  specks 
you  kin  do  a  heap  of  good  ef  you  try." 

The  old  slave  patted  his  boy  proudly  and  the  old 
mammy  kissed  her  son.  The  two  white  men 
watched  this  farewell.  What  white  man  with  the 
spirit  of  chivalry  bred  into  him  for  ages  could 
have  spoken  nobler  words  than  those  which  came  to 
the  lij^s  of  this  worn  old  slave?  AVhat  mother, 
proud  of  her  honored  name,  could  have  blessed  her 


THE   NEGRO   CABIN  75 

boy  as  did  this  wrinkled,  old,  black  woman?  There 
is  a  proud  feeling  that  cheers  the  heart  when  we 
send  our  loved  ones  out  to  fight  for  a  cause  that 
may  send  them  back  laden  with  honor  and  glory. 
How  about  this  old  slave  who  sent  her  boy  to  fight 
for  a  cause  that  bestowed  no  honor,  no  glory,  upon 
such  as  her  son  ? 

Uncle  Nathan  noticed  the  old  slave's  shaking 
hand.     He  whispered  hurriedly  to  John. 

"  Jest  gimme  that  flag,  will  ye?  " 

John  handed  him  the  rude  emblem,  and  Uncle 
Nathan  thrust  it  into  the  old  slave's  hand. 

••'Thet's  fer  you,  old  man.  Thet  goes  to  the  man 
that  shows  the  best  grit,  an'  I'll  be  darned  if  that 
man  ain't  you,  if  ye  be  a  nigger." 

The  negro  clutched  at  the  flag  quickly. 

"  Tanky,  boss,"  he  said.  "  I  alius  keep  dat.  I 
tink  a  heap  o'  dat." 

The  three  men*  passed  out  into  the  morning. 
They  crept  through  the  corn,  over  the  meadow,  and 
into  the  forest.  The  day  was  spent  at  a  negro's 
cabin,  and  at  night  they  pressed  on  again.  Slowly, 
under  the  guidance  of  Sol,  they  threaded  their  way 
through  the  country.  Slowly  they  pushed  on  to  the 
north,  till  one  day,  around  a  bend  in  the  road,  they 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  Union  flag  waving  over  a  mass 
of  blue  uniforms.     They  were  saved. 

Sherman  needed  men,  and  so  they  shouldered  mus- 
kets again  and  went  marching  in  triumph  on  to  the 
sea.  Uncle  Nathan  wrote  home,  but  John  could  not 
send  Archie's  letter ;  he  felt  that  he  must  carry  that 
to  Nellie  himself. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

JACK  Foster's  welcome 

Jack  Foster  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  Sharpsburg 
court-house,  and  looked  down  the  street.  The  steps 
were  broken  and  fallen  in  decay.  The  house  was 
covered  with  dull  staius.  It  had  looked  down  upon 
many  strange  scenes  since  it  smiled  exultingly  on 
Jack's  company  marching  away  to  battle.  A  melan- 
choly sight  it  was  that  Jack  looked  upon.  The 
long,  silent  street,  the  closed  houses  and  stores,  and 
the  grass  gnawing  its  way  up  over  the  very  side- 
walks, all  told  their  sad  story  of  suffering  and 
despair.  Jack  could  not  help  thinking  of  the  pict- 
ures that  had  passed  before  these  sad  old  houses 
since  he  left  them.  The  pictures  seemed  to  pass 
before  him  like  a  dream  as  he  stood  on  the  broken 
steps,  with  the  sun  in  his  eyes.  The  past  crowded 
before  him  in  sullen  review. 

A  crowd  of  men  gather  ^about  the  court-house 
steps.  Eagerly,  with  frantic  gestures,  they  discuss. 
They  shout  and  wave  their  arms,  and  fiercely  shake 
their  fists.  They  pass  inside  at  last,  and  take  their 
places  on  the  rude  benches.  Old  and  young  are 
there.     Fierce,  scowling  faces,  with  eyes  that  glitter 

16 


77 


with  hate.  A  gray-haired  man  calls  the  company  to 
order.  In  passionate  terms  he  alludes  to  the  object 
of  the  meeting.  Shall  proud  old  Mississippi  go  out  of 
tlie  Union  ?  Shall  she  cringe  before  the  cowards  of 
the  North,  or  shall  she  stand  up  in  proud  defiance 
to  protect  her  honor?  He  pauses,  and  a  mighty 
shout  goes  up  from  the  crowd.  The  scowling  faces 
light  with  a  sudden  joy. 

"  Down  with  the  Yankees  !  '* 

Jack  himself  seems  to  join  in  the  shout.  How 
confident  they  are  !  Defeat  is  impossible.  How  can 
the  Yankee  shop-keepers  even  stand  up  before  gen- 
tlemen? But  hark!  A  hush  falls  over  the  com- 
pany. An  old  man,  with  a  long,  white  beard,  rises 
from  his  place  and  speaks  deliberately  against  the 
proposition.  They  know  him  well.  It  is  the  old 
preacher  whose  words  have  guided  them  so  long. 
He  points  his  long,  thin  finger  at  the  crowd,  as  he 
slowly  says,  "  You  are  sure  to  be  beaten  in  the  end. 
You  will  see  your  homes  desolate,  your  families  in 
want,  your  country  in  ruins,  and  the  ground  covered 
with  your  dead,  and  yet  not  one  point  for  which  you 
contended  gained.  Be  warned  in  time,  and  wait 
before  you  cry  :  — 

"  '  Havoc,  and  let  slip  the  dogs  of  war.'  " 

But  a  shout  of  scorn  goes  up  from  the  crowd. 
The  men  are  frenzied  with  passion.  A  rush  is  made 
at  the  old  preacher.  Crash  —  a  club  falls  on  the 
white  head.  A  long,  crimson  streak  darts  out  on 
the  pale  forehead,  and  he  totters  and  falls.  The 
State  goes  out  of  the  Union  —  enters  upon  its  weary 
and  bloody  pilgrimage. 


78  ANDERSONVILLE    VIOLETS 

A  company  of  soldiers  come  marching  down  the 
long  street.  The  sun  glitters  on  the  muskets.  The 
uniforms  are  bright  and  new.  Every  man  is  full  of 
enthusiasm.  Every  man  carries  a  magnolia  at  the 
end  of  his  musket.  The  new  banner  that  the  ladies 
have  blessed  waves  proudly  over  them.  The  crowds 
cheer  wildly.  The  ladies  are  waving  handkerchiefs 
or  casting  flowers  before  the  heroes.  Sweethearts 
are  smiling  through  their  tears,  mothers  are  blessing 
their  bo3^s.  It  is  all  life  and  enthusiasm.  Victory 
seems  assured.  But  behind  the  silent  crowd  of 
negroes  that  gather  at  one  corner  there  seems  to 
rise  the  warning  figure  of  the  old  white-haired 
preacher.  He  shakes  his  head,  and  waves  his  hand 
sadly  as  the  bright  column  moves  on.  The  red  mark 
on  his  forehead  glows  with  a  hateful  color. 

The  streets  are  dull  and  deserted.  The  stores  are 
all  closed.  The  houses  look  grimly  down  through 
closed  blinds.  The  grass  grows  over  the  streets. 
The  trees  droop  dismally  down  to  whisper  their 
sorrow.  Decay  has  laid  its  dreadful  hand  upon 
everj'thing.  A  group  of  negroes  and  old  men  come 
straggling  down  the  road.  Ragged  and  dusty  and 
feeble  they  march  with  implements  of  labor. 

Grant  is  coming  I 

Out  on  the  hills  beyond  the  town,  breastworks 
slowly  rise.  The  workers  are  feeble  and  unorgan- 
ized, A  pause — and  then  a  great  wave  of  blue, 
with  a  crest  that  glitters  in  the  sunlight,  comes 
sweeping  over  the  breastworks. 

Grant  has  come  ! 


JACK   FOSTER'S   WELCOME  79 

Tlie  blue  column  forms  on  tlie  hillside  and  comes 
slowly  marching  through  the  long  street.  Onward 
the  soldiers  come  under  the  magnolias,  white  with 
fragrance.  The  trees  will  not  bend  lovingly  over 
the  invaders.  The  branches  tremble  with  wrath. 
The  flowers  hang  their  heads  in  shame.  They  had 
grown  in  the  hope  of  offering  up  their  beautiful  lives 
in  garlands  for  their  own  brave  soldiers.  They 
would  gladly  withhold  their  perfume  from  these 
stern  victors.  The  sun  gilds  the  bayonets.  The 
ranks  rise  and  fall  like  the  billows  of  a  mighty  ocean. 
The  flag  on  high  is  faded  and  tattered.  The  stars 
gleam  like  proud  eyes  from  their  field  of  blue. 
Dusty  and  bearded  and  brown  are  the  soldiers. 
There  is  no  one  to  welcome  them  save  a  crowd  of 
negroes  who  wait  awkwardly  at  the  corner.  The 
silent  houses  frown  down  upon  the  army.  The 
women  and  old  men  are  inside,  hid  from  sight, 
brooding  over  their  country's  dishonor.  The  officer 
at  the  head  of  the  column  touches  his  hat  to  the  old 
flag  that  a  negro  waves.  The  soldiers  halt  in  the 
square.  They  braak  ranks  and  scatter  through 
the  town.  Over  the  picture  rises  again  the  figure  of 
the  old  preacher.  He  bows  his  head  in  his  hands.  His 
prophecy  is  being  fulfilled. 

Jack  could  see  all  this  as  he  stood  on  the  broken 
steps.  One  by  one  the  pictures  passed  before  him. 
How  true  the  preacher's  words  seemed  to  him  now. 
The  country  was  in  ruins,  he  had  seen  the  ground 
covered  thickly  with  the  dead,  yet  not  one  point 
had  been  gained. 


80  ANDERSON  VILLE  VIOLETS 

His  had  been  a  sad  journey  from  Georgia.  Dis- 
honored and  stripped  of  all  right  to  defend  Lis  coun- 
try, he  had  come  home.  Home,  the  only  place 
where  comfort  seemed  possible.  Home,  where  the 
strong  and  the  weak,  the  humble  and  the  proud, 
all  must  turn  at  last  for  comfort  when  all  else  fail. 

He  knew  not  how  he  would  be  received.  .  It 
seemed  to  him  at  times  that  he  had  only  to  tell  his 
story  to  convince  Lucy  that  he  had  refused  to  shoot 
the  Yankee  simply  because  he  loved  her.  At  times 
he  felt  that  she  must  see  it  as  he  did.  But  then  he 
thought  of  her  unreasoning  scorn  for  all  cowards,  of 
liis  proud  old  mother,  and  his  heart  failed  within 
him.  He  had  not  written  since  his  disgrace.  He 
still  carried  the  letter  he  had  written  when  death 
seemed  to  have  almost  touched  him.  He  had  deter- 
mined to  bear  the  news  himself,  and,  as  he  slowly 
made  his  way  across  Alabama,  he  had  proudly  re- 
solved to  take  the  consequences  like  a  man.  He 
could  not  convince  himself,  after  all,  that  he  had 
done  wrong.  And  here  he  stood  at  last,  at  home, 
waiting  only  for  courage  to  tell  his  story  to  the  ones 
he  loved. 

The  street  was  almost  empty.  A  few  ragged 
negroes  lay  in  the  sun  in  front  of  the  two  stores  that 
were  alone  left  to  do  what  little  business  the  town 
required.  Two  old  men  stood  leaning  up  against  the 
door  of  the  market.  The  sign  that  used  to  swing  so 
bravely  in  the  air  had  fallen  to  the  ground,  and  no 
one  seemed  ambitious  enough  to  put  it  back.  The 
blinds  were  hanging  loosely  from  their  hinges.  The 
building  seemed  to  have  grown  prematurely  old  in 


JACK  Foster's  welcome  81 

watching  the  troubled  scenes.  The  grass  grew  up 
almost  to  the  sidewalk,  pushing  with  its  restless 
fingers  the  sign  of  trade  and  traffic  away.  A  blighting 
curse  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon  all  nature. 

After  some  hesitation,  Jack  remounted  his  mule 
and  rode  slowly  down  the  street.  The  old  men  in 
front  of  the  market  looked  at  him  curiously,  but  he 
pulled  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes  and  escaped  detec- 
tion. The  years  had  changed  him  and  the  old  men 
had  passed  through  so  much  trouble  and  seen  so 
many  strange  and  terrible  faces,  that  they  had  almost 
forgotten  how  their  friends  appeared.  They  took 
this  strange  man  to  be  in  some  way  connected  with 
the  Yankees.  Who  else  could  be  riding  through 
their  desolate  town  ?  No  doubt  they  expected  an- 
other raid,  for  they  made  haste  to  close  the  stores 
and  take  themselves  out  of  sight.  They  could  show 
just  how  the  battles  should  have  been  fought,  but 
when  the  foe  came  to  close  quarters  they  had  no  ad- 
vice to  offer. 

Jack  rode  slowly  past  the  deserted  market.  How 
well  he  knew  the  way.  He  reached  Lucy's  house  at 
last,  and,  fastening  his  mule  at  the  gate,  walked  hesi- 
tatingly up  the  walk.  He  had  thought  at  first  to  find 
his  mother  before  he  saw  Lucy,  but  somehow  he 
could  not  ride  past  the  place.  Everything  had  fallen 
in  ruins.  The  high  weeds  grew  up  to  the  walk,  and 
narrowed  it  to  a  modest  footpath.  They  had  de- 
stroyed every  curve,  and  strangled  the  feeble  life  out 
of  the  flower  garden.  Like  true  pirates  of  Nature 
they  reached  their  hands  exultingly  over  the  narrow 
path,  and  threatened  to  push  it  out  of  sight.     The 


82  ANDERSON VILLE  VIOLETS 

railing  of  the  piazza  had  fallen  away,  and  one  of  the 
steps  had  broken  down. 

The  magnolias  rustled  Jack  a  welcome  as  he  came 
np  to  the  broken  step.  He  could  not  enjoy  their 
fragrance.  He  was  thinking  of  the  scene  that  lay 
before  him.  What  could  he  say  —  he  the  dishonored 
soldier  —  to  this  woman  that  he  loved  so  well, 
and  who  had  suffered  so  much  for  the  cause?  As 
Jack  placed  his  foot  on  the  steps,  an  old  negro 
started  up  from  the  grass,  where  he  had  been  sleep- 
ing. He  rubbed  his  eyes  open  and  stared  at  Jack 
for  a  moment  in  wonder.  Then  he  ran  stiffly  to  the 
back  of  the  house,  shouting,  —  "  Massa  Jack's  come. 
Miss  Lucy  —  Massa  Jack  !  " 

Jack  stepped  to  the  door,  feeling  like  a  very  guilty 
man.  Two  white  faces  peered  in  at  him  from  the 
end  of  the  hall.  Jack  recognized  his  mother  and 
Lucy.  An  instant  more  and  the  two  women  came 
rushing  down  the  hall  to  meet  him.  Lucy  reached 
him  first,  and,  with  a  glad  cry,  threw  her  arms  about 
his  neck  and  put  her  head  on  his  breast.  Jack  could 
not  help  drawing  her  to  him  and  kissing  lier.  As  he 
looked  down  into  her  eyes,  he  almost  wished  he  had 
shot  the  Yankee. 

The  women  led  Jack  into  the  parlor.  How  pale 
and  thin  they  seemed.  Their  dresses  were  old  and 
threadbare,  and  their  hands  roughened  by  the  hardest 
work.  They  did  not  care  for  the  ugly  past  now  that 
the  son  and  lover  had  come  back  to  them  alive  and 
honored.  Jack  was  surprised  to  see  his  mother  in 
the  town.  He  did  not  fully  realize  what  a  terrible 
desolation  had  fallen  upon  the  country. 


JACK  Foster's  welcome  83 

The  negroes  had  done  their  best  to  butcher  a  liv- 
ing out  of  the  land,  but,  left  to  themselves,  they  had 
grown  idle  and  shiftless.  The  Union  raids  had  run 
over  the  country  so  thoroughly,  filling  the  negroes 
with  an  exalted  idea  of  freedom,  that  Mrs.  Foster  had 
lost  control  of  her  former  slaves,  and  when  she  came 
into  town  to  find  Lucy  and  her  mother  living  alone» 
she  had  been  easily  prevailed  upon  to  live  with  them. 
So  the  three  women  had  lived  there  alone,  saying 
nothing  to  Jack,  and  leaving  the  rich  plantation  to 
grow  up  to  weeds  and  wilderness. 

The  women  drew  Jack  to  a  sofa,  and  sat  down  on 
either  side  of  him.  Poor  fellow ,  he  hung  his  head 
like  a  guilt}^  man,  and  avoided  the  e3^es  turned  upon 
him  so  lovingly.  He  had  imagined  this  scene  many 
times,  but,  now  that  it  had  come,  it  seemed  harder 
than  he  had  dared  to  think.  He  knew  that  his  story 
must  be  told,  yet  how  could  he  tell  it?  The  women 
noticed  his  dejection,  and  Lucy  laid  her  band  on  his 
arm  as  she  asked  quickly,  —  "  Have  they  surrendered, 
Jack?" 

The  man  raised  his  head  proudly, — 

''  We  never  surrender.  We  will  fight  to  the  last 
man  "  —  and  then,  suddenly  remembering  that  he 
could  fight  no  more  for  his  country,  he  dropped  his 
head  sadly. 

Lucy's  eyes  flashed  proudly  as  he  spoke.  She  was 
proud  of  her  lover.  Better  this  than  victory  pur- 
chased by  dishonor.  Jack's  mother  looked  at  him 
curiously.  With  a  mother's  instinct  she  knew  that 
something  was  wrong.  Her  heart  trembled,  but  she 
spoke  slowly  and  coldly  as  she  drew  slightly  away 
from  him. 


84  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

"  Why  do  you  leave  the  army  without  notice  ? 
Where  is  your  uniform,  my  son  ?  Are  you  ashamed 
or  afraid  to  wear  it?  We  women  have  boasted  to  the 
Yankees  that  if  you  had  been  here  they  never  would 
have  dared  to  insult  us  ?     Why  do  you  not  speak  ?  '* 

His  mother's  words  cut  Jack  to  the  heart.  The 
utter  helplessness  of  his  position  flashed  through  his 
mind.  What  could  these  proud  women  think  of  him 
—  the  dishonored  soldier?  Could  he  tell  them  that 
all  their  suffering,  all  their  devotion  had  been  for 
nothing?  He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and 
groaned  aloud  —  he  who  had  marched  into  the  rifle 
pits  at  Gettysburg  without  flinching.  Lucy  put  her 
arms  about  his  neck  to  comfort  him,  but  his  mother 
rose  proudly  from  her  seat. 

"  Are  you  a  coward  ?  "  she  asked  sternly.  "  Dare 
you  not  tell  us  why  you  are  afraid  to  wear  the  uni- 
form of  your  country  ?  Come  away  from  him,  Lucy, 
and  let  him  answer  if  he  can." 

The  girl  rose  reluctantly  and  took  her  place  at 
Mrs.  Foster's  side.  She  looked  pityingly  at  Jack, 
and  once  she  started  to  go  back  to  him.  The  elder 
woman  put  her  arm  about  Lucy's  waist,  as  if  to  steady 
herself.  Mrs.  Foster  looked  sternly  at  her  son, 
though  her  woman's  heart  was  bleeding  for  him. 
Her  gray  hair  had  grown  white  with  the  terrible 
suffering  of  war.  Her  old  dress  hung  loosely  about 
her  thin  form,  yet  she  stood  erect  and  stately  as  of 
old.  Lucy's  under  lip  quivered,  and  she  drew  closer 
to  Mrs.  Foster. 

"Speak,  sir!  "  commanded  the  stern  woman,  with 
a  slight  gesture  toward  her  son.     Jack  felt  at  her 


JACK  Foster's  welcome  85 

words  a  cruel,  obstinate  feeling  rise  in  his  heart. 
Had  he  been  left  to  tell  the  story  in  his  own  way  he 
mi^ht  have  softened  the  blow  ;  but  his  mother's  stern 
words  goaded  him  to  desperation.  Was  he  a  coward  ? 
He  stood  up  straight  and  soldier-like  as  he  answered 
bluntly :  — 

"  I  have  no  uniform  to  wear.  It  is  all  over  with 
me,  I  reckon.  I  refused  to  shoot  a  Yankee  prisoner, 
and  I  have  been  dishonorably  discharged  from  the 
service." 

It  was  a  plain  statement  of  fact,  but  if  Jack  could 
only  have  seen  Lucy's  quivering  lip,  he  would  not 
have  answered  so  bluntly.  When  he  answered  he 
was  looking  straight  into  his  mother's  eyes,  with  all 
the  pride  she  had  given  him.  Had  he  struck  the 
women  a  blow  with  his  hand  he  could  not  have  hurt 
them  more  cruelly.  Mrs.  Foster  staggered  to  a  chair, 
with  all  the  proud  scorn  driven  from  her  face.  She 
lowered  her  head  in  her  hands  —  this  proud,  stately 
woman.  Her  boy  had  brought  dishonor  upon  them. 
Lucy's  mouth  stopped  its  trembling.  She  drew  back 
from  Jack  with  a  shudder.  For  a  moment  she  looked 
at  him  with  flashing  eyes  —  speechless  with  anger. 
Then  with  one  wild  burst  her  scorn  found  words. 

*'  You  a  traitor  ?  You  refuse  to  shoot  a  Yankee  ? 
You  bring  back  nothing  but  dishonor  to  us?  Oh,  if 
I  could  only  be  a  man  to  shame  you  !  They  stood 
here,  in  this  very  room,  and  insulted  your  own 
mother.  These  wolves,  that  fight  only  women  and 
children,  cursed  my  sick  mother  when  she  defied 
them.  And  you  did  not  dare  to  kill  them  —  you 
who  swore  to  be  true  to  me.     You  are  a  coward ! " 


86  AKDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

She  stopped  for  a  moment,  fairly .  choked  with 
passion.  She  could  not  see  liow  anything  couki  pos- 
sibly justify  a  Southern  man  in  si)aring  a  Yankee's 
life.  She  only  knew  that  the  Northern  soldiers  had 
brought  all  the  horrors  and  desolation  upon  the 
land.  Before  they  came  her  life  had  been  one  long 
round  of  happiness.  They  were  like  wild  beasts  to 
her,  and  to  tliink  that  the  man  to  whom  she  had 
given  her  heart  had  refused  to  fight  them  nearly 
drove  her  frantic.  She  would  listen  to  no  reason 
now. 

Jack  turned  to  her  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  His 
mother's  sternness  had  not  touched  him  thus.  If  he 
could  only  let  her  know  why  he  did  not  shoot  the 
prisoner.  If  she  could  only  understand  that  it  was 
for  love  of  her  that  he  had  lowered  his  musket.  He 
held  out  his  arms  appealingly  to  her. 

"  My  dear  little  girl,"  he  began,  but  she  waved 
him  back  and  pointed  to  the  door. 

"Go,  you  coward,"  she  sternly  said,  "never  dare 
speak  to  me  again.  I  will  never  look  at  you  or 
speak  to  you  again,  so  help  me  my  God ! " 

She  held  her  clenched  fist  above  her  as  she  spoke. 
Her  other  hand  was  pressed  against  her  breast.  She 
gasped  and  turned  as  pale  as  death,  for  she  knew 
how  well  she  loved  this  man.  Jack  knew  she  meant 
every  word  she  had  spoken.  He  offered  no  word  of 
explanation.  He  turned  proudly  to  the  door,  with  a 
great  pain  at  his  heart.  He  could  not  even  look  at 
Lucy.  His  mother  rose  from  her  chair  and  tottered 
toward  him.  The  mother's  love  is  stronger  than 
any. 


JACK  Foster's  welcome  87 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  she  said  feebly  ;  "  you  have 
dishonored  your  countr}^  but  you  are  still  my  son. 
Let  me  go  home,  my  boy.  Take  me  home,  that  I 
may  die  where  no  one  can  see  my  shame.  I  do  not 
care  to  live  now." 

She  threw  her  bonnet  on  her  head  and,  leaning  on 
her  son's  shoulder,  tottered  out  into  the  sunshine. 
Lucy  watched  them  with  flashing  eyes.  They  passed 
slowly  down  the  path  and  out  at  the  gate.  She 
knew  w^ell  that  they  would  never  come  back,  except 
at  a  word  from  her,  and  that  she  would  not  give. 
She  watched  them  as  they  reached  the  gate  and  saw 
Jack's  face  as  he  glanced  back.  The  anger  faded 
from  her  eyes,  and  she  threw  herself  upon  the  sofa 
in  an  agony  of  weeping.  Her  idol  had  been  broken. 
Her  knight  had  proved  faithless. 


CHAPTER  X. 

BROTHER   HILL,   THE  PREACHER 

As  Jack  and  Mrs.  Foster  walked  slowly  down  the 
street,  they  saw,  ahead  of  them,  an  old  man  standing 
under  the  trees.  His  long  white  hair  fell  down  al- 
most to  his  shoulders,  and  his  great  beard  swept  his 
breast  like  a  brush  of  snow.  His  clothes  were  old, 
yet  carefully  patched  and  brushed.  He  wore  a  wide 
straw  hat.  His  head  was  bent  forward,  and  his  thin 
hands  were  clasped  behind  him.  They  could  not  see 
his  face,  yet  Jack  recognized  him  at  once.  Jack  had 
seen  him  in  that  dim  picture  that  rose  before  him  at 
the  court-house.  Angry  and  humiliated  as  Jack 
was,  he  would  gladly  have  turned  back.  He  did  not 
care  to  meet  the  old  preacher  when  the  evidences  of 
the  truth  of  his  prophecy  were  so  abundant.  Those 
calm  w^ords  seemed  too  true  to  him  now.  His 
mother  pressed  forward,  however,  and  Jack  reluc- 
tantly walked  toward  the  old  man.  Their  stej)S 
aroused  the  preacher  from  the  reverie  into  which  he 
had  fallen.  He  glanced  up,  and  then  advanced  witli 
a  smile  of  surprise  to  take  their  hands.  No  wonder 
Mrs.  Foster  had  hasteiied  to  him  for  comfort.  No 
wonder  Jack  hung  his  head  in  shame  when  that 
calm  face  turned  toward  them. 

It  was  a  beautiful  face  —  calm   and  gentle   and 
88 


BROTHER   HILL,   THE   PREACHER  89 

dignified,  set  in  a  frame  of  hair  of  the  most  won- 
drous whiteness.  The  eyes  were  clear  and  calm, 
yet  full  of  a  soft,  dreamy  expression,  as  if  they  were 
looking  far  away  from  the  present.  The  mouth  was 
gentle,  and  yet  there  were  lines  at  the  corners  that 
indicated  a  mighty  will  and  a  strong  determination 
when  some  great  occasion  should  demand  it.  There 
was  one  ghastly  mark  on  the  forehead,  where  a  wide 
scar  lost  itself  in  the  snow-white  hair.  It  seemed 
as  if  some  brutal  finger  had  traced  its  protest  against 
the  gentle  whiteness  of  the  forehead.  The  pure  skin 
showed  whiter  than  ever  above  the  scar. 

Jack  hung  his  head  as  the  old  preacher  placed  a 
thin  hand  kindly  on  his  arm.  Mrs.  Foster  grasped 
the  thin  hand  as  if  it  offered  her  some  great  comfort. 
It  is  not  always  the  great,  powerful  clasp  that  brings 
us  the  greatest  help. 

"  I  must  see  you.  Brother  Hill.  I  must  speak 
with  you  at  once,"  she  gasped.  "  We  are  going 
home,  but  I  must  see  you  first.  We  have  changed, 
I  know,  but  I  must  talk  now,  and  you,  my  old  friend, 
will  tell  me  what  I  shall  do." 

She  spoke  wildly  and  leaned  heavily  on  the  arm 
of  her  son.  It  seemed  strange  that  she  should  come 
at  last  to  this  gentle  old  man  for  help.  For  years 
he  had  spoken  bravely  against  slavery,  against  seces- 
sion, against  everything  that  had  led  to  the  war. 
She  had  scorned  him,  yet  now,  heart-broken  and 
helpless,  she  came  to  him  for  comfort.  Perhaps 
some  instinct  told  her  how  his  brave,  self-sacrificing 
life  had  given  him  the  strength  she  needed. 

The  preacher  spoke  gently  as  he  shook  her  hand  : 


90  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

"  Come  with  me  and  you  shall  tell  me  your  trouble  — 
perhaps  we  can  make  it  lighter." 

He  took  his  ph\ce  at  her  side,  and  the  three 
walked  on  together.  He  guessed  at  something  of 
the  trouble  as  they  went  slowly  on.  Jack's  dogged, 
sullen  manner,  and  the  woman's  wildness  and  feeble- 
ness, told  him  something  of  what  had  happened. 
He  smiled  sadly  as  he  thought  how  this  young  man 
had  laughed  defiantly  and  tossed  his  musket  in  glee 
as  he  marched  away  a  few  years  before. 

Tlie  preacher  at  last  opened  a  gate  in  front  of  a 
little  cottage  that  stood  back  from  the  street,  in  a 
mass  of  vines  and  flowers.  They  followed  him  si- 
lently up  the  path  and  into  the  house.  Jack  helped 
his  mother  up  the  steps  and  into  the  study.  She 
dropped  into  a  chair  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands.  Her  pride,  that  had  kept  her  tears  back  so 
long,  was  broken  at  last.  The  preacher  with  a  ges- 
ture drew  Jack  from  the  room.  They  closed  the 
door  and  went  out  to  the  front  of  the  house. 

"I  do  not  know  what  has  happened,  John,"  the 
preacher  said,  kindl3^  "  Perhaps  I  h^ve  no  right  to 
ask  you  what  you  have  done,  but  you  had  better 
leave  your  mother  liere  with  me.  I  am  an  old  friend, 
and  it  may  be  that  I  can  say  sometliing  that  will 
bring  her  some  comfort." 

Jack  held  out  his  hand  and  grasped  the  thin 
fingers.  His  ej'es  were  full,  and  he  felt  that  great 
lump  rising  in  his  throat.  Could  not  this  gentle  old 
man  understand  him  when  he  told  his  story  ?  Could 
not  he  see  why  it  was  better  to  be  called  a  traitor 
than  to  shoot  the  Yankee   prisoner  ?     Jack  felt  so 


BROTHER   HILL,  THE   PREACHER  91 

at  first,  but  the  cruel  scar  on  the  white  forehead 
seemed  to  stand  out  more  plainly  into  view,  and  he 
drove  his  purpose  down. 

"I  will  go,  I  reckon,"  he  said  simply.  "I  have 
disgraced  them — they  think  —  and  I  will  take  my 
mother  home.  I  reckon  I  will  ride  out  to  the  plan- 
tation and  make  it  ready  for  her.  I'll  be  back  in  a 
few  hours." 

The  preacher  shook  hands  again  and  walked  back 
to  the  study,  where  the  grief-stricken  woman  was 
awaiting  him.  Jack  walked  out  into  the  street. 
His  mule  was  still  tied  in  front  of  Lucy's  house.  A 
negro  boy  brought  the  animal  for  him,  and,  mounting 
once  more,  Jack  rode  slowly  away  over  the  road  he 
knew  so  well.  He  was  anxious  to  get  away  —  he 
cared  not  where  —  that  he  might  tliink.  Sad  indeed 
were  the  poor  fellow's  thoughts  as  he  rode  toward 
his  old  home.  Gloomily  he  stood  at  last  in  front  of 
the  old  house  and  looked  over  the  butchered  planta- 
tion. He  felt  the  letters  he  had  read  so  often,  un- 
der his  coat.  The  two  sentences  came  into  his 
mind:  "If  you  will  only  be  true,  I  will  love  you 
forever."  —  "If  you  ever  show  them  any  mercy,  I 
will  never  speak  to  you  again."  He  knew  that  he 
had  been  true  as  life  itself  and  yet  he  had  shown 
mercy. 

A  short  time  after  Jack  rode  out  of  town,  an  old 
man  came  riding  through  the  street  as  rapidly  as  his 
sorry  mule  could  carry  him.  He  leaned  far  over  the 
mule's  head,  as  if  to  try  and  add  to  the  animal's 
speed.  His  gray  hair  flew  out  behind  him.  His  hat 
had  been  lost  on  the  wav,  but  his  mission  was  evi- 


92  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

dently  of  too  much  importance  to  permit  him  to  stop 
for  such  trifling  misliaps.  He  halted  in  front  of  the 
post-office,  where  a  small  crowd  had  gathered  to  en- 
joy the  sunshine, 

''The  Yankees  are  coming!"  he  shouted. 
''  Another  raid  !     Notify  the  town  !  " 

By  a  vigorous  application  of  his  stick  he  pushed 
new  life  into  his  mule  and  rode  on  again  to  privately 
warn  his  own  personal  friends.  The  crowd  in  front 
of  the  post-office  scattered  like  a  flock  of  sheep  at 
this  danger  call.  They  were  mostly  old  men,  who 
fought  the  home  battles,  and  told  how  the  real  cam- 
paign should  have  been  conducted.  The  few  stores 
were  hurriedly  closed  and  the  men  hastened  home 
to  hide  the  few  trinkets  or  the  little  money  that  for- 
mer raids  had  left.  Tlien  one  and  all  of  the  home 
guards  "  took  to  the  woods,"  leaving  the  ladies  to 
meet  the  Yankees  with  their  more  dangerous  weapons 
of  scorn  and  womanly  abuse.  There  was  little  to 
choose  between  Grierson  and  Forest  in  the  conduct 
of  these  raids.  One  took  what  the  other  left.  Like 
Jack  Spratt  and  his  wife,  they  "  licked  the  platter 
clean,"  without  being  hampered,  as  were  the  afore- 
said distinguished  couple,  by  any  decided  preference 
for  meat  of  a  particular  quality. 

When  Grierson's  cavalry  rode  into  the  town,  an 
hour  in  the  rear  of  the  old  messenger,  the}'  found  a 
deserted  village,  with  only  one  man  —  the  postmas- 
ter —  in  sight.  This  government  official  was  chained 
to  his  post  by  a  disabled  leg,  which  alone  prevented 
him  from  taking  a  position  in  the  front  rank  of  the 
home  guard.      There   was  nothing  of  value  in  the 


BROTHER   HILL,   THE   PREACHER  93 

mail  bag.  Just  a  great  heap  of  letters  from  the  sol- 
diers. The  blue-coats  let  them  go,  laughing  now  and 
then  at  some  boasting  sentence.  The  Yankees  could 
not  stay  long.  They  must  press  on  to  the  next  town. 
Leaving  a  small  guard  on  the  main  street,  they 
scattered  through  the  village  in  pursuit  of  plunder. 
The  negroes  hastened  to  meet  them.  Old  slaves 
tottered  out  to  shake  hands  with  Massa  Linkum's 
soldiers.  Boys  followed  them  about  with  open- 
mouthed  wonder.  Old  women  grinned  and  muttered 
in  pleasure. 

The  soldiers  were  rough,  good-natured  fellows 
from  Michigan.  There  was  very  little  play  or  "  fool- 
ing "  about  them.  Three  years  of  fighting  had 
drilled  some  positive  ideas  into  them  and  made  them 
rough  and  sturdy.  Tliey  had  little  respect  for  their 
foes,  and  the  women  who  taunted  them  were  sure 
to  get  a  rough  answer.  No  man  was  harmed  who 
kept  quiet,  and  most  of  the  men  were  too  far  away 
for  a  sound  to  reach  the  town.  Horses  and  valuable 
articles  that  could  be  easily  transported  were  taken 
without  ceremony. 

A  short  time  after  the  column  halted,  a  heavy  rap 
was  heard  at  the  door  of  the  old  preacher's  study. 
There  was  no  response  to  this  rough  notice,  and  the 
huge  cavalryman  who  had  entered  the  place  pressed 
the  latch  and  pushed  the  door  open. 

He  stepped  over  the  threshold,  but  something  on 
the  inside  made  him  stop. 

Mrs.  Foster  still  sat  in  the  chair  into  which  she 
had  fallen,  with  her  face  still  covered  w4th  her 
hands.     Her  white  hair  had  fallen  about  her  neck. 


94  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

The  preacher  was  kneeling  with  his  face  toward  the 
door,  and  his  hand  upon  an  open  Bible  that  lay  on 
the  table.  The  red  scar  on  his  forehead  seemed  to 
fade  away  as  he  prayed.  The  soldier  stood  for  a 
moment  in  silence.  Then,  with  his  cap  in  his  hand, 
lie  stepped  as  softly  as  possible  out  at  the  door,  and 
walked  down  the  path,  his  sabre  clanking  as  he  went. 

"  It's  all  right,  boys,"  he  said  as  his  comrades 
laughed  at  him.  "  It's  all  right.  I  s'pose  like 
enough  he  was  prayin'  the  whole  Union  straiglit 
into  a  hole,  but  that  old  woman  looked  just  like  my 
mother,  an'  I  quit."  The  boys  did  not  laugh  at  his 
explanation.  They  thought  of  their  mothers  at 
home,  praying  for  them.  It  was  something  the 
roughest  could  understand.  A  few  moments  after 
the  first  soldier  disappeared,  another  marched  in  at 
the  gate.  A  young,  boyish  figure  it  was,  with  a 
clear  skin  and  bright  curls.  It  was  his  first  cam- 
paign evidently.  He  marched  pompously  up  to  the 
door,  drew  his  pistol,  and  walked  in.  The  old 
preacher  rose  from  his  seat  to  meet  the  young  sol- 
dier. He  could  hardly  suppress  a  smile  at  the 
youth's  importance. 
'    "  What  do  you  wish  ?  "  he  asked  pleasantly. 

"  I  demand  the  surrender  of  this  house  in  the 
name  of  the  United  States  Government,  and  I  order 
you  to  bring  forth  any  soldiers  that  may  be  con- 
cealed here,"  answered  the  young  hero  with  a  theat- 
rical gesture. 

The  preacher  answered  with  a  smile,  "  We  surren- 
der most  certainly  to  a  superior  force.  March  in 
and  take  possession  at  once." 


BROTHER  HILL,  THE  PREACHER        95 

The  young  man  marched  over  the  threshold,  and 
began  a  sentence  beginning,  "  Duty,"  when  a  little 
picture  on  the  mantel  caught  his  eye,  and  sadly  broke 
into  his  eloquent  speecli.  It  was  only  a  small  tin- 
type of  a  fair-haired  girl.  There  was  a  hole  cut  in 
the  top,  as  if  some  soldier  had  carried  it  about  his 
neck.  The  boy  —  for  he  was  nothing  more  —  caught 
the  picture  hurriedly  and  closely  examined  it. 

"Where  did  you  get  that?"  he  asked  hastily; 
"  that  is  my  sister's  picture." 

"  One  of  your  soldiers  left  it  here,"  said  the  old 
preacher  calmly.  "  He  was  wounded  just  outside 
the  town,  and  we  brought  him  here,  and  cared  for 
him  till  he  died.  We  found  this  picture  tied  about 
his  neck.  Mary,  I  think  he  said  her  name  was, 
tliough  he  could  not  talk  intelligently." 

The  soldier's  lip  trembled  as  the  preacher  spoke. 
Tiie  martial  air  was  dropped  at  once.  The  victor 
was  ready  to  surrender. 

"He  was  engaged  to  her,  sir,"  he  said.  "He  was 
like  a  brother  to  me,  and  we  never  knew  where  he 
died.  Forgive  me,"  he  said,  impulsivel}^  "for  com- 
ing in  here  as  I  did.     I  did  not  mean  to  insult  you." 

He  grasped  the  preacher's  hand  as  he  spoke,  and 
tliere  were  tears  in  the  blue  eyes.  The  bugle 
sounded  far  down  the  street,  and  he  hurried  away 
with  the  little  picture  as  his  only  booty.  One  girl 
in  the  North  will  think  kindly  of  the  Southern  man 
who  cared  for  her  lover. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Jack  came  back 
to  the  town.  He  had  made  a  longer  trip  than  he  in- 
tended.    With  the  help  of  an  old  negro  he  had  put 


96  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

his  mother's  loom  into  something  like  order,  and  set 
the  hands  to  work  at  cleaning  away  something  of  the 
rub])i.s]i  that  had  accumulated  all  over  the  place.  lie 
knew  that  liis  mother  would  prefer  to  be  at  home, 
where  she  could  brood  over  her  troubles.  He  came 
back  to  take  her  away  from  tlie  town  ;  but  she  was 
not  to  go  after  all.  Tlie  preaclier  met  Jack  at  the 
door  with  a  very  grave  face. 

"  Your  mother  is  very  sick,  John,"  he  said.  "  You 
had  better  go  in  and  talk  with  her,  and  if  there  is 
anything  that  you  can  say  to  set  her  mind  at  rest,  you 
had  better  say  it.  You  know  what  I  mean,  my  boy  ; 
there  must  be  something  about  this  matter  that  will 
make  it  easier  for  her  to  bear.  I  know  you  too  well 
to  think  that  you  have  no  defence  to  make." 

Jack  made  no  answer.  He  walked  into  the  dark- 
ened room  where  his  mother  lay.  An  old  negro 
woman  sat  at  the  head  of  the  bed,  fanning  her  old 
mistress.  Jack  sent  her  away.  He  took  the  fan  in 
his  own  hand  and  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  head  of  the 
bed.  Mrs.  Foster  had  changed  much  since  the  morn- 
ing. Her  face  seemed  haggard  and  pale  in  the  dark- 
ened room.  She  smiled  feebly  and  held  out  her 
hand  to  her  boy.  All  her  pride  had  been  burned 
away  ;  she  was  only  a  weak  mother  now. 

Jack,  touched  at  the  sight  of  her  poor,  thin  face, 
kissed  her  and  put  liis  head  on  the  jtillow  beside 
hers,  as  he  used  to  do  years  and  years  before.  She 
placed  lier  hand  on  liis  forehead,  and  there,  like  a 
boy  who  comes  to  his  mother  to  confess  his  sins,  he 
whispered  to  her  all  the  story.  She  did  not  ask  him 
to  tell  it,  but  it  seemed  to  him,  for  the  moment,  that 


BKOTliKU    HILL,   THE   PUEACHER  97 

ho  was  a  little  boy  ajj^ain  and  that  her  smile  ooiiUl 
biin^]^  him  comfort  as  of  old.  She  listened  in  silence, 
brushini^  back  his  hair  as  he  talked.  She  understood 
him  now.  A  mother  can  always  understand  her  boy 
when  his  wife  or  sweetheart  could  never  read  him. 
Thipy  remained  there  for  a  long  time  after  he  told  his 
story,  she  still  brushing  his  hair  back  from  his  fore- 
head. Somehow  he  seemed  dearer  to  her  than  he 
liad  ever  been  before.  Somehow  he  seemed  to  for- 
get his  trouble  and  shame. 

**You  will  lu'omise  me  one  thing,*'  she  said  at  last. 
—  "You  will  stav   here  and   live   this   down,  won't 

you?" 

*' I  will,"  said  Jack,  between  his  teeth.  He  knew 
what  the  promise  meant,  yet  he  could  not  refuse. 
She  reached  forward  and  drew  his  head  up  to  her 
bos(Uu.  She  kissed  hin\  very  tenderly  and  then 
turned  away  on  the  pillow.  Jack  heard  her  sob,  and 
she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  till  the  sobs 
died  away.  Jack  knew  that  she  was  praying  for  him. 
At  last  she  turned  to  him  again  and  laid  her  hand 
on  his  head  as  she  had  di>ne  before.  The  light  faded 
slowly  out  of  the  room  and  all  the  sounds  of  the 
twilight  came  on.  The  hum  of  insects,  the  rustle 
of  the  trees  and  vines,  and  the  dim  whisperings  from 
the  creeping  shadows.  The  mother  and  son  lay 
there  without  a  word.  The  hand  on  Jack's  liead 
grew  cohl  and  clammy.  He  started  up  and  thiew 
back  the  heavy  curtains.  His  mother  was  dead  — 
dead  with  the  first  smile  o\\  her  lips  that  had 
toucheil  her  face  for  many  a  day.  Heath  had 
brought  her  the  comfort  life  had  denied.      He  could 


98  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

not  weep  and  wish  lier  back  to  life  again,  he  knew 
that  slie  was  happier  in  death.  He  almost  wished 
he  was  with  her. 

The  townspeople  came  to  the  funeral,  and  many  of 
them  wept  at  the  old  preacher's  sermon.  Many  an 
eye  that  the  horrors  of  war  had  long  starved  of 
moisture  was  filled  with  tears.  Tlie  congregation 
was  made  up  mostly  of  women  and  old  men.  They 
recoiled  in  horror  from  Jack.  It  seemed  to  them 
that  he  had  killed  his  mother.  They  magnified  his 
fault  a  thousand  times.  He  proudly  kept  the  truth 
locked  in  his  heart,  where  none  could  read  it.  Lucy 
Avould  not  listen  to  him,  and  he  cared  nothing  for  the 
others.  No  one  spoke  to  him.  He  sat  alone  through 
the  services.  He  walked  slowly  behind,  as  they  car- 
ried his  mother  away.  When  he  came  to  the  side 
of  the  grave  the  people  stepped  back  and  left  him 
alone.  Lucy  wept  over  the  coffin,  but  she  turned 
her  back  on  Jack  when  he  came  near  her.  The  old 
preacher  tried  to  say  a  kind  word,  when  the  mourn- 
ers came  back  from  the  grave,  but  Jack  would  not 
listen.  He  went  back  to  the  plantation,  and  never 
came  into  town.  He  worked  on  in  a  feeble,  half- 
hearted wa}^  shunned  by  his  old  friends,  caring  little 
what  was  done  with  him. 

A  few  Union  people  of  the  place  and  the  negroes 
soon  got  the  idea  that  Jack  was  their  friend.  No 
one  knew  just  what  his  crime  had  been.  It  was  gen- 
erally understood  that  he  had,  in  some  way,  helped 
tlie  Yankees.  The  negroes  came  from  miles  around 
to  ask  the  news,  and  many  of  tliem  expected  Jack 
to  arm  and  lead  them  out  to  attack  a  detachment  of 


BROTHER  HILL,   THE  PREACHER  99 

rebel  soldiers  that  once  wandered  that  way.  Jack's 
heart  grew  very  bitter  that  night,  when  he  looked 
out  upon  the  motley  band  of  black  men  gathered 
before  his  house.  There  they  stood  in  the  moon- 
light, drawn  up  in  savage  strength.  They  urged 
him  to  lead  them  out  to  attack  the  men  with  whom 
he  had  fought.  They  tossed  their  rude  weapons  in 
the  air,  and  told  with  savage  glee  of  the  brutal  re- 
venge they  would  take. 

He  lived  aimlessly  on  till  the  dull  years  slowly 
dragged  through  to  the  end  of  the  war.  Then,  a 
new  bitterness  was  in  store  for  him.  The  soldiers 
came  back,  and  he  saw  yet  more  plainly  what  an 
awful  gulf  stretched  between  him  and  his  people. 
He  saw  how  it  never  could  be  bridged  on  this  side 
of  the  grave.  The  cause  of  the  Confederacy  was  to 
be  held  sacred  by  those  who  had  suffered  for  it.  It 
could  not  be  otherwise.  The  busy,  exulting  North, 
in  its  great  generous  burst  of  triumph,  could  over- 
look, forgive  one  who  helped  the  enemy.  Not  so 
with  such  as  Jack  Foster.  His  record  will  follow 
him  to  the  grave.  The  soldiers  came  scattering 
along,  sometimes  one  at  a  time,  and  sometimes  in 
little  groups.  They  came  slowly  and  reluctantly. 
They  had  been  beaten,  when  they  had  sworn  to 
bring  victory  or  die.  The  long  years  of  agony  and 
sorrow  had  gone  for  nothing.  There  was  nothing 
to  sweeten  the  memory  of  the  dead,  onl}'  the  dull 
sting  of  defeat  that  would  not  lie  in  the  graves  of 
their  loved  ones. 

Sad,  indeed,  it  was  to  see  these  brave  fellows,  who 
had  given  all  for  what  they  thought  to  be  their  duty, 


100  ANDERSON VILLE  VIOLETS 

come  back  in  this  way  to  their  old  homes.  The 
towns  were  guarded  by  Union  soldiers,  the  slaves 
were  all  free  —  impudent  and  grinning  at  their  old 
masters.  The  country  was  in  ruins.  The  beautiful 
homes  they  had  left  were  fallen.  Thousands  of  the 
friends  with  whom  they  had  marched  away  weje 
now  sleeping  on  battle-fields  from  which  they  could 
bring  no  glory.  The  very  color  of  their  uniforms 
was  a  national  disgrace.  The  flag  they  had  wor- 
shipped was  in  the  dust.  They  could  bring  no  glori- 
ous words  with  which  to  bind  up  the  bleeding  hearts 
that  waited  for  them.  Women  were  waiting  for  their 
husbands,  their  sons,  or  their  brothers.  Old  men 
were  watching  with  sad  eyes  for  the  boys  who  were 
far  away  under  the  sod.  What  comfort  could  such 
sad  hearts  take  from  the  bitter  story  of  defeat  ?  It 
is  the  saddest  page  of  all  history  —  sad,  that  such 
bravery,  such  devotion,  should  be  wasted. 

It  was  hardest  for  Jack,  to  see  the  way  in  which 
the  ladies  received  these  defeated  soldiers.  The  peo- 
ple of  the  town  never  turned  out  to  meet  the  sol- 
diers. They  came  in  sullen  silence,  and  took  up  the 
bitter  round  of  life  as  best  they  could.  There  were 
no  reproaches.  The  women  all  knew  that  these  men 
had  done  their  best.  There  were  flowers,  and  gar- 
lands, and  tender  words  of  encouragement,  for  the 
brave  — brave  and  honorable,  even  in  defeat. 

For  a  time,  the  people  waited  in  sullen  despair. 
Labor  was  completely  disorganized,  and  the  country 
lay  one  great  heap  of  ruins.  There  was  but  little  in- 
centive to  work.  The  wounds  were  too  sore,  the 
hearts  too  bitter.     The  South  sat  brooding  over  her 


BROTHER   HILL,    THE   PREACHER  101 

defeat.  Jack  tried  at  first,  honestly,  to  win  back 
the  esteem  of  his  old  comrades,  but  it  was  a  useless 
task.  The  people  shunned  him — he  was  a  traitor 
in  their  eves,  and  they  could  not  forgive  him.  He 
lived  a  life  horrible  in  its  loneliness.  His  very  asso- 
ciates seemed  to  drive  him  fartlier  and  farther  from 
society.  The  negroes  and  white  Republicans  saw 
that  his  own  people  drove  him  aside,  and  they  tried 
to  bring  him  into  their  party.  They  promised  him 
any  office,  and  they  were  in  a  condition  to  carry  out 
their  promises.  He  never  would  go  with  them,  yet 
they  were  the  only  companions  he  could  find.  His 
old  companions,  and  the  people  with  whom  he  had 
been  raised,  thought  he  had  joined  the  despised 
party,  and  he  fell  lower  than  ever  in  their  estima- 
tion. 

At  last,  the  people  rose  against  the  negro  rule. 
For  years  they  had  fought  against  it,  but  now  they 
rose  with  savage  purpose  to  push  it  by  one  supreme 
effort  out  of  sight  forever.  Stern,  determined,  des- 
perate men,  who  felt  that  they  were  fighting  for  all 
that  was  sacred  and  true,  rose  against  their  former 
slaves,  ignorant  and  incapable.  Such  a  contest  could 
have  but  one  result  —  the  weak  went  to  the  wall. 

When  the  negro  and  "carpet-bagger"  government 
fell  like  a  rope  of  sand,  the  white  people  changed  in 
sentiment  and  action.  Many  of  the  men  who  had 
joined  the  Ku  Klux  or  the  "  Red  Shirts  "  simply  be- 
cause they  had  been  driven  to  desperation  by  what 
they  considered  a  national  crime  went  quietly  about 
their  business,  and  were  the  strongest  supporters  of 
law  and  order.     A  better  feeling  began  to  prevail. 


102  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

Improvements  were  contemplated,  for  people  felt 
that  their  homes  and  their  property  were  safer. 
They  considered  Republicanism  and  negro  govern- 
ment as  surely  dead.  They  knew  little  difference 
between  the  two,  for  they  had  always  come  to  them 
together.  After  the  horrors  through  which  they 
had  passed,  they  thought  they  were  justified  in  tak- 
ing extreme  measures  to  prevent  any  return  of  the 
old  days.  As  the  times  grew  better,  Jack  began  to 
gain  a  little  of  the  confidence  of  his  old  comrades. 
They  never  quite  forgave  him,  but  the  memory  of 
his  crime  —  for  so  they  still  called  it  —  faded  a  little. 
But  Lucy  never  would  even  look  at  her  old  lover. 
She  always  passed  him  without  a  sign,  and  his  life 
was  full  of  misery. 

But  for  his  promise  to  his  mother,  he  would  have 
gone  away,  but  that  promise  held  him  to  the  scene 
of  his  sorrow.  He  worked  aimlessly  on,  with  a  great 
hunger  at  his  heart,  thinking  oftentimes  of  the  pris- 
oners for  whom  he  had  given  so  much. 


CHAPTER  XL 
breezetown's  welcome 

There  were  stirring  times  in  old  Breezetown. 
It  was  a  bright  afternoon  in  May,  and  all  Nature 
seemed  to  have  put  on  a  new  dress  in  order  to  help 
out  the  celebration.  The  soldiers  were  coming  home 
from  the  war.  The  long,  cruel  fight  was  over  at 
last,  and  the  old  "  town  boys "  were  coming  back 
under  the  brave  old  elms  —  coming  back  heroes  — 
with  the  tokens  of  a  wonderful  victory.  The  news 
had  come  in  the  morning,  and  by  two  o'clock  tlie 
whole  town  had  gathered  on  the  green  to  welcome 
the  boys.  The  stores  were  all  closed,  and  every 
house  in  the  town  had  sent  its  representative.  Even 
the  gray  old  farmhouses  clustered  on  the  hills  out- 
side of  the  town  had  sent  in  their  delegations.  The 
old  village  flag,  grown  ragged  in  the  cause  of  liberty, 
swung  over  the  road  in  front  of  Sam  Price's  hotel. 

The  women  and  girls  carried  great  bunches  of 
flowers.  Old  Silas  Plum  and  Eben  Cobb,  thin, 
white-haired  soldiers  of  the  war  of  1812,  with  drum 
and  fife,  —  honored  by  age  and  execution,  —  stood  in 
front  waiting  for  the  signal  to  strike  up  with  Yankee 
Doodle.  They  watched  for  the  sign  of  the  rising 
dust  on  the  road  far  down  under  the  trees.  The 
men  were   gathered   about   the   musicians,  while   a 

103 


104  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

crowd  of  boys  with  tin  horns  could  hardly  be  re- 
strained from  practising  their  part  of  the  greeting. 
To  a  boy,  a  celebration  of  any  kind  can  never  be 
complete  without  a  hideous  noise.  As  we  grow 
older  we  learn  the  value  of  the  silent,  heartfelt 
greeting.  The  crowd  stood  in  eager  anticipation. 
No  one  could  say  that  old  Breezetown  was  not  will- 
ing to  do  all  she  could  to  welcome  back  her  brave 
sons. 

She  had  given  her  best  and  bravest  —  given  them 
willingly.  Forty-five  men  in  all  had  gone  from  the 
old  town.  Some  of  them  were  dead,  they  knew  — 
there  were  sad  hearts  in  that  waiting  crowd  —  sad 
hearts  that  looked  down  the  long  lines  of  elms  where- 
the  boys  had  marched  away.  How  many  were  dead 
—  they  could  not  say.  The  prison  doors  had  swung 
open  at  last,  and  the  living  were  coming  back.  This 
was  all  they  knew. 

Six  wagons  had  been  sent  down  to  meet  the  train. 
These,  with  the  stage,  would  surely  be  enough  to 
bring  back  the  boj^s.  So  they  stood  waiting  for  the 
soldiers,  with  a  brave  greeting  for  those  who  came 
and  a  tear  for  those  that  death  held  back.  There 
was  no  bitter  feeling  such  as  lay  in  the  hearts  of 
those  who  waited  at  the  South  for  their  boys  to  come 
home.  Victory  had  been  won,  the  glorious  cause 
they  knew  to  be  right  had  triumphed,  and  the  glory 
so  nobly  won  drew  out  for  a  moment  the  bitter 
sting  —  hid  for  a  moment  the  awful  face  of  despair. 

A  great  cloud  of  dust  surged  up  under  the  trees 
far  down  the  road.  The  watchers  on  the  hills  saw 
it,  and  came  riding  at  full  speed  into  town  to  pre- 


bkeezetown's  welcome  105 

pare  the  way.  The  crowd  formed  in  long  lines 
along  the  street,  where  the  wagons  might  pass  be- 
tween them.  The  Sunday-school  children,  dressed 
all  in  white,  stood  with  briglit  flowers  in  their 
hands.  The  wives  and  mothers  and  sweetliearts 
stood  back  of  them,  eager  for  a  look  at  the  well 
known  faces.  The  friends  of  those  who  could  not 
come  from  the  grave  turned  away  with  a  choking 
feeling,  that  they  might  not  see  how  others  were  glad. 
Such  happiness  would  only  make  their  grief  harder 
to  bear.  They  looked  up  at  the  proudly  waving  flag, 
and  the  blow  seemed  lighter.  Their  loved  ones  found 
victory  at  least  —  the  country  had  been  saved. 

The  stage  moves  into  view  far  down  the  shaded 
road.  It  does  not  move  as  rapidly  as  they  expected. 
The  old  musicians  strike  up  their  tune  and  the  men 
take  off  their  hats  for  the  cheer.  But  a  hush  falls 
over  the  crowd  as  one  by  one  the  wagons  roll  on 
through  the  dust.  The  eyes  that  strain  for  the  first 
look  at  the  dear  ones  can  see  that  the  wagons  are 
empty.  Many  a  cheek  pales  and  many  a  heart 
throbs  as  the  empty  seats  tell  their  sad  story. 
Many  an  eye  is  filled  with  tears  that  mercifully 
hide  the  sad  procession. 

The  stage  halts  in  the  crowd.  The  door  opens 
and  Uncle  Nathan  and  John  Rockwell  step  out. 
They  turn  and  tenderly  lift  from  the  seats  two  fee- 
ble men  whose  great,  hollow,  death-like  eyes  fill  with 
tears  as  the  gentle  arms  of  friends  clasp  them  about. 
The  boys  have  come  home  ! 

The  cheer  died  away  on  the  lips  of  the  crowd. 
Was  victory  so  precious,  then,  that  such  countless 


106  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

treasure  must  be  paid  for  it?  Did  not  the  war  "cost 
more  than  it  came  to  "  ?  The  people  fell  back  stupe- 
fied by  the  cruel  blow.  One  little  girl  brought  her 
flowers  and  laid  them  in  John's  hand.  Dear  little 
girl,  her  father  had  died  in  Anderson ville  praying  to 
her  mother's  face. 

The  old  men  passed  by  in  solemn  procession  to 
shake  the  soldiers'  hands.  The  women  turned  away 
with  quivering  lips  —  all  but  two.  Uncle  Nathan's 
wife  threw  her  arms  about  her  husband's  neck  and 
clung  to  him.  A  tear  stole  down  the  face  of  the 
stern  old  man  as  he  kissed  her.  He  thought  of  the 
three  brave  boys  who  could  never  come  back  to  their 
mother.  A  little  woman  dressed  in  black,  with  a 
face  as  white  as  snow,  and  her  bright  curls  brushed 
back  from  her  forehead,  came  timidly  out  from  the 
crowd  and  put  her  two  little  hands  into  one  of 
John's.  And  as  John  looked  down  into  Nellie's 
eyes  something  told  him  that  Archie  had  told  her 
the  story  of  his  crossing  the  dead  line. 

The  people  slowly  fell  away  at  last,  and  John  and 
Nellie  followed  Uncle  Nathan  and  Aunt  Susan  to 
the  wagon.  The  people  went  back  to  their  homes. 
The  celebration  was  over ;  but  what  of  those  whose 
friends  came  not?  The  Union  was  saved,  the  flag 
was  whole  once  more,  the  victory  had  been  won. 
But  the  aching  hearts  made  answer  —  it  cost  too 
much ;  of  what  use  is  the  Union  when  its  life  is  the 
death  of  those  we  love?  There  could  be  no  answer 
—  only  the  flag  rippled  proudly  in  tlie  air  above 
them. 

Uncle  Nathan's  horse  and  wagon   came  backing 


beeezetown's  welcome  107 

out  of  one  of  the  sheds  at  the  rear  of  the  meeting- 
house as  they  approached.  The  exit  was  slow  and 
hiborious,  for  old  Whitey,  who  supplied  the  motive 
power,  had  seen  his  best  days.  Uncle  Nathan  patted 
the  old  beast  affectionately,  and  was  much  gratified 
to  see  that  the  horse  appeared  to  know  him.  The 
wagon  seemed  like  an  old  friend,  and  he  examined  it 
with  a  critical  eye.  He  shook  one  of  the  wheels  and 
whistled  softly. 

"  How  long  sense  ye  greased  them  wheels,  Reu- 
ben ? "  he  asked  of  the  boy  who  had  backed  old 
Whitey  out  of  the  shed.  This  boy  had  done  his 
best  to  do  "chores"  and  take  care  of  the  "wimmen 
folks."  Reuben  felt  hurt  at  this  question.  He 
seemed  to  consider  this  as  an  insinuation  against 
his  agricultural  carefulness.  He  felt  that  he  had 
done  his  best  as  a  home  defender  to  keep  the  fight- 
ing members  of  the  family  at  the  front.  He  did  not 
propose  that  the  value  of  the  services  of  the  home 
guard  should  be  underestimated. 

"  I  greased  'em  this  mornin',  an'  I've  done  jest  as 
well  as  I  could  to  keep  things  up  straight.  Just 
look  at  that  boss,  will  ye?  I'll  leave  it  to  Aunt 
Susan  if  I  ain't  gone  over  an'  above  my  stent." 

"So  he  has,  Nathan,"  urged  Aunt  Susan,  at  this 
juncture.  "  Reuben's  ben  a  good  boy,  an'  he  ain't 
done  no  complainin'." 

Good  old  Uncle  Nathan  hastened  to  set  matters 
right  again.  He  had  seen  this  boy's  father  die  like 
a  brave  man,  and  he  thought  —  it  is  only  a  boy, 
after  all.  So  he  said  nothing  about  a  great  scratch 
on  the  wagon,  and  he  straightened  a  trace  that  had 


108  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

been  twisted,  and  buckled  a  dangling  strap,  without 
a  word. 

"  I  know  ye  done  yer  best,  Reuben,  an'  I  stan' 
ready  ter  give  ye  full  credit  for  it.  Old  Whitey 
there  looks  as  slick  an'  clean  as  can  be,  an'  I  hear 
good  reports  of  ye  from  all  sides.  Ye  wanter  be  a 
good  boy,  now,  an'  alluz  mind  what's  told  ye,  'cause 
yer  pa,  he  said  to  me,  jest  afore  he  died,  that  he  set 
gret  store  by  ye.  But  ye  mustn't  cry  now ;  that 
won't  do  ye  no  good,  ye  know." 

The  boy,  at  the  mention  of  his  father's  name,  had 
dropped  the  look  of  pride  that  Uncle  Nathan's  words 
had  aroused.  His  mouth  twitched  with  a  great  sob, 
and  he  laid  his  head  on  old  Whitey's  shoulder. 
What  was  the  victory  to  him  ?  Old  Whitey  could 
sympathize  with  him  at  least.  They  had  had  many 
a  quiet  cry  out  in  the  barn.  The  old  horse  turned 
his  head  and  rubbed  his  nose  affectionately  against 
the  boy's  shoulder.  Aunt  Susan,  too,  soothed  the 
poor  little  home  soldier. 

"  Ye  mustn't  cry  now,  Reuben  —  you're  gointer  be 
our  boy  now,  ye  know,  an'  we'll  do  by  ye  jest  as  we 
would  by  one  of  our  own." 

Her  voice  trembled  a  little  as  she  spoke,  and 
Uncle  Nathan  hid  behind  old  Whitey's  face.  At 
last  they  induced  the  coat  sleeve  to  leave  the  over- 
flowing eyes,  and  the  boy,  with  many  a  sob  and 
choke,  recovered  his  self-control.  Uncle  Nathan 
was  bound  to  make  the  recovery  as  complete  as  pos- 
sible. He  pulled  a  ten-cent  scrip  from  his  pocket, 
and  gave  it  to  Reuben. 

"  You've   ben  such   a  good  boy,  that  I'm  gonter 


breezetown's  welcome  109 

make  ye  a  present.  You're  pretty  spry-legged,  an'  I 
guess  ye  can  run  home,  an'  then  agin  we'll  pretty 
nigh  fill  up  the  wagon.  Git  ye  some  candy,  if  ye 
wanter,  only  remember,"  he  added,  cautiously,  "  be 
sorter  careful  what  kind  of  a  bargain  ye  make, 
'cause  money  don't  grow  on  every  bush,  an'  it  has 
ter  be  handled  keerfal  to  make  anything  out  on't." 

Reuben  ran  away  to  invest  his  capital,  and  Uncle 
Nathan  and  John  lielped  the  women  into  the  wagon. 
It  is  safe  to  say  that  Reuben  went  home  sweeter  at 
mouth  and  lighter  at  pocket.  Candy  is  to  the  aver- 
age country  boy  what  whiskey  is  to  the  drinking 
man.  Not  a  country  boy  but  will  hoard  up  his 
pennies  and  leave  the  wholesome  home  sweets  to 
purchase  the  uncertain  mixture  of  sweets  and  dis- 
ease found  at  the  country  store. 

"  We  want  you  to  go  home  with  us,  John,  an'  we 
won't  take  '  no  '  fer  uo  answer,"  said  Uncle  Nathan, 
as  he  climbed  over  the  wheel. 

John  had  not  the  least  thought  of  saying  "  no  " 
when  Nellie  looked  at  him  as  she  did.  Without  a 
word,  he  climbed  into  the  wagon  and  took  his  place 
on  the  front  seat.  Uncle  Nathan  picked  up  the  reins 
and  clucked  to  old  Whitey,  as  an  intimation  that 
they  were  all  ready  to  proceed.  The  patient  horse 
had  grown  old  and  stiff  during  the  years  of  war,  and 
under  the  doubtful  training  of  the  "  wimmin  folks  " 
and  Reuben  he  had  gained  remarkably  fast  in  lazi- 
ness. It  was  only  after  several  sharp  applications  of 
the  stick  that  he  could  be  induced  to  develop  a  rate 
of  speed  in  any  way  satisfactory  to  the  soldier.  In 
thus  forcibly  starting  the    current  of   old  Whitey 's 


110  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

being,  Uncle  Natlian  did  not  wish  to  be  unnecessa- 
rily cruel.  He  selected  a  place  on  old  Whitey's 
tough  hide  where  the  blows  could  be  heard  rather 
than  felt.  The  old  horse  understood  matters  at  once. 
They  drove  through  the  town,  old  Whitey  keeping 
up  his  stumbling  trot  of  his  own  accord,  as  if  proud 
of  his  burden,  and  desirous  of  showing  it  off  to  tlie 
best  advantage.  The  crowd  had  scattered  and  tlie 
green  was  deserted.  The  people  had  gone  home  to 
the  gray  old  farmhouses,  to  take  up  the  dull  life 
again,  and  try  to  forget  that  under  the  joy  of  victory 
there  crouched  the  agony  of  despair.  A  few  loung- 
ers were  gathered  about  the  post-ofhce,  and  the 
seats  in  front  of  the  store  were  all  occupied.  Uncle 
Nathan  pulled  in  his  steed  at  the  post-office,  as  was 
his  wont  to  do.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  just 
returned  from  a  visit. 

"  Jest  bring  me  my  mail,  will  ye,  Deacon  Smith  ? 
I  kinder  hate  to  leave  the  boss  alone." 

No  one  took  an  exception  to  this  very  flimsy  rea- 
son for  asking  Deacon  Smith  to  bring  the  mail. 
John  and  the  '*  wimmin  folks  "  did  not  feel  in  the 
least  insulted.  Deacon  Smith  and  the  rest  of  the 
spectators  knew  that  it  was  tlie  delight  of  old 
Whitej^'s  life  to  be  left  alone  in  such  a  condition. 
The  entire  company  understood  the  matter,  so  there 
was  nothing  to  be  said.  Deacon  Smith  disappeared 
in  the  office  and  presently  returned  with  a  paper  in 
his  hand.  He  brouo^ht  it  out  to  the  was^on  and 
lianded  it  to  Uncle  Nathan.  He  glanced  over  his 
spectacles  at  the  two  soldiers,  as  he  nervously 
brushed  the  dust  away  from  the  wheel. 


bueezetown's  welcome  111 

"  Didn't  see  nothin'  o'  my  boy,  did  ye,  Nathan  ?  " 
said  Deacon  Smith.  "  We  ain't  heard  a  word  frum 
him  sense  you  was  took  pris'ner.  I  wnz  kinder  in 
hopes  you  might  have  ben  there  when  he  died  so'st 
we  could  know  whether  he  died  in  peace  or  not. 
'Twould  be  a  great  comfort  to  us  to  know  how 
'twas.  His  mother  ain't  ben  well  sense  the  news 
come.  Gittin'  sorter  childish,  'pears  ter  me,  an'  1 
dunno  as  I  wonder  at  it  much." 

Uncle  Nathan  reached  down  and  shook  the  dea- 
con's hand.  That  warm  hand-clasp  told  more  than 
his  words  ever  could  tell. 

"  We  left  him  in  that  prison  when  we  come  out, 
deacon.  He'd  ben  low  then  for  quite  a  spell,  an'  I 
don't  s'pose  he  ever  gut  up  at  all.  We  all  set  great 
store  by  him.  He  was  one  of  the  best  boys  in  the 
whole  company.  He  never  shirked  nothin'  an'  done 
his  duty  all  the  time  —  without  a  word." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  that  —  I  declare  I  be.  His 
mother'll  be  glad  to  hear  it.  I'm  glad  he  done  his 
duty  —  bat  'pears  to  me  sometimes  jest  as  if  I'd  'a' 
gin  all  the  world  ef  I  cud  only  see  that  boy  agin. 
'Pears  ter  me  I'd  feel  better  if  he  was  buried  here. 
It  don't  seem  jest  right  somehow  —  I  s'pose  it  is, 
though." 

He  glanced  again  over  the  spectacles,  and  still 
brushed  the  dust  from  the  wheel. 

"  Ye  mustn't  feel  that  way  about  it,"  said  Uncle 
Nathan  bravely.  *'  I  know  jest  how  'tis  myself;  but 
ye  wanter  remember  what's  ben  done  —  what's  ben 
gained  by  the  war." 

The  deacon's  head  sank  lower  as  he  turned  away. 


112  ANDERS  ON  VILLE   VIOLETS 

"  Mebby  so  —  I  s'pose  ye're  right  —  I  wish  I  could 
think  so,"  he  said,  as  he  walked  back  to  the  side- 
walk, and  Uncle  Nathan  started  the  horse  asrain. 

Old  Whitey  jogged  on  through  the  quiet  street, 
and  out  under  the  trees  towards  the  country.  A 
jjigli  sand  hill  that  raised  the  road  up  into  the  free 
country  air,  soon  gave  him  a  chauce  to  show  his 
favorite  quality  —  slow  progression  —  to  good  advan- 
tage. Uncle  Nathan  kept  liis  eye  open  to  note  all 
tiie  village  improvements  that  had  been  planned  dur- 
ing his  absence. 

"  Seems  ter  me^  John,  this  grade  to  this  hill  ain't 
nigh  ser  steep  as  it  wuz  when  we  went  away  "  —  but 
he  added  critically  —  "  they  might  hev  done  a  good 
deal  better  job  if  they  hed  jest  scraped  that  dirt  up 
to  one  side  an'  put  some  sand  on  the  brow  of  the 
liill.  I  don't  s'pose,  though,  they  felt  much  like  fixin' 
things  up  when  the  heft  of  the  pushin'  men  was 
away." 

Uncle  Nathan  had  been  an  honored  town  officer. 
Perhaps  this  fact  had  something  to  do  with  his  criti- 
cism of  town  affairs.  They  had  reached  the  brow  of 
the  hill  by  this  time,  and  old  AVhitey  stopped  to  take 
a  good  breath  before  pushing  on  again.  Uncle 
Nathan  stood  up  in  the  wagon  to  obtain  a  better 
view  of  the  country. 

''  Wall,  there's  the  old  place,"  he  shouted  eagerly 
—  "looks  nat'rel,  don't  it,  John?  Git  up  there  —  we 
wanter  git  home  an'  see  how  it  seems  ter  set  foot  on 
yer  own  sile.  Git  up  !"  —  and  he  gave  old  Whitey  a 
blow  that  started  that  good-natured  piece  of  horse- 
flesh into  a  trot. 


breezetown's  welcome  113 

"  I  guess  I'll  have  ter  git  me  a  new  hoss  afore 
long,"  said  Uncle  Nathan  as  he  seated  himself.  But 
he  noticed  old  Whitey's  frantic  efforts  to  obey  orders, 
and  his  heart  softened.  ''  I  guess  I'll  keep  this  one 
too  —  we'll  need  him  to  do  our  runnin'  round  with." 

Old  Whitey  kept  up  his  pace  so  well  that  in  a 
short  time  they  pulled  up  before  the  gate  at  Uncle 
Nathan's  place.  John  opened  the  gate  —  it  was  no 
easy  task,  for  one  of  the  hinges  had  rusted  away  — 
and  Uncle  Nathan  drove  up  to  his  own  door.  He 
looked  about  him  with  a  critic's  eye. 

"  I  s'pose  like  enough  Reuben  has  done  his  best, 
but  things  looks  pooty  slack  arter  all.  I'll  git  me  a 
couple  of  scythes  sharpened  up  an'  mow  them  weeds 
the  fust  thing  I  do." 

Uncle  Nathan  planned  other  needed  reforms  as  he 
and  John  took  the  horse  out  of  the  waoron  and  led 
him  to  the  barn.  The  old  man  went  through  the 
buildings,  and  looked  over  the  stock.  He  laid  out 
the  work  for  the  summer  as  he  walked  about  the 
place,  with  his  uniform  laid  away,  and  an  old  farm 
hat  on  his  head.  They  went  into  the  house  at  last, 
and  the  old  soldier's  cup  of  happiness  seemed  as  full 
as  possible  as  he  drew  his  armchair  up  to  the  old 
place  at  the  window.  He  looked  out  into  the 
orchard,  white  with  blossoms. 

How  pleasant  it  seemed,  after  the  years  of  fighting, 
to  sit  there  at  home.  His  boys  never  could  come 
back  —  he  thought  of  that  as  he  drew  his  chair  up  to 
the  window  —  but  they  died  like  men  —  the  country 
had  been  saved. 

The   old  orchard   just   bursting   into  bloom,  the 


114  ANDEPwSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

sandy  road  lagging  past  the  old  stone  wall,  the  bare, 
hilly  pasture  rising  beyond,  with  the  rocks  starting 
from  it  gray  and  moss-covered,  made  a  beautiful  pict- 
ure to  his  eyes.  The  cows  were  coming  down  from 
the  hills,  with  Reuben  behind  them.  The  red  sun 
dropped  behind  the  woods,  so  slowly  that  the  gray 
hillsides  smiled  back  in  pleasure.  A  wondrous  feel- 
ing of  rest  fell  over  the  grizzled  soldier's  heart,  as  he 
looked  out  over  the  fields  he  knew  so  well.  He  had 
never  seen  anything  more  beautiful. 

Aunt  Susan  and  Nellie  bustled  about  to  prepare 
the  supper.  John  sat  and  watched  Nellie  as  she 
drew  out  the  table  and  sliced  the  bread.  She  looked 
at  him  every  now  and  then  in  a  way  that  honest 
John  could  not  understand  at  all.  Every  time  she 
looked  in  that  way,  John  felt  a  thrill  run  all  over 
him,  and  he  felt  instinctively  for  the  letter  under  his 
vest.  Miss  Nellie  grew  happier  and  brighter  the 
more  John  looked  at  her.  She  pulled  Uncle 
Nathan's  hair  and  glanced  at  John  merrily,  as  if  she 
knew  how  he  would  go  over  the  dead  line  again  to 
have  her  pull  his  hair.  She  ran  down  cellar  after 
the  butter,  singing  as  she  had  not  done  since  the 
news  came  that  Archie  had  been  taken  prisoner. 
That  news  had  killed  her  mother,  and  she  herself 
had  almost  lost  hope  when  the  months  rolled  by  and 
brought  no  word.  She  had  been  nearer  than  a 
daughter  to  Aunt  Susan  all  through  the  terrible  days 
of  suspense,  and  when  at  last  Uncle  Nathan's  letter 
with  John's  postscript  had  told  them  how  death  had 
been  cheated,  the  two  women  had  wept  tears  of  joy 
together. 


breezetown's  welcome  115 

Uncle  Nathan  and  Aunt  Susan  looked  meaningly 
at  John  as  Nellie  went  singing  down  stairs.  Perhaps 
they  remembered  something  of  their  own  youth. 
Poor  John  blushed  like  a  girl,  and  the  two  old  people 
smiled  kindly  at  each  other.  Uncle  Nathan  forgot 
to  watch  the  hills.  He  sat  nodding  his  head  as  he 
thought  —  perhaps  of  the  night  in  the  Georgia  forest. 
The  table  was  ready  at  last  and  Aunt  Susan  brought 
a  great  smoking  dish  of  baked  beans  from  the  stove. 
The  family  drew  around  the  table,  and  Uncle  Nathan, 
with  a  voice  that  trembled  a  little,  spoke  a  few  words 
of  thanks  and  praise. 

The  meal  was  a  pleasant,  but  not  a  merry  one. 
The  three  boys  who  used  to  fill  up  the  places  at  the 
table  were  gone  forever.  The  new  children,  Nellie 
and  John  and  Reuben,  filled  up  the  places,  yet  there 
was  something  lacking  —  something  that  might  not 
perhaps  be  so  plain  in  the  future.  They  all  realized 
what  a  change  the  war  had  made  with  them.  It  was 
not  until  John  reminded  Uncle  Nathan  of  the  meal 
they  had  eaten  with  Sol  and  his  family  that  the  con- 
versation became  general.  The  older  man  told  the 
story  of  the  escape,  urged  on  by  an  occasional  ques- 
tion from  the  others.  Nellie  and  Aunt  Susan  shud- 
dered as  he  told  how  Sol  had  killed  the  dog.  John 
smiled,  and  Reuben  —  the  "  home  soldier  "  —  grasped 
his  knife  as  if  to  show  that  he  would  like  to  face  the 
enemy.  Uncle  Nathan  told  the  story  so  well  that 
almost  before  they  knew  it  they  found  themselves 
listening  so  intently  that  they  forgot  to  eat.  All  but 
Reuben.  He  felt  bound  to  keep  up  the  reputation 
of  the  family.     He  pushed  a  large  doughnut  into  his 


116  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

eye.  He  had  kept  his  eyes  upon  Uncle  Nathan  so 
carefully  that  he  forgot  the  way  to  his  mouth. 

Aunt  Susan  quickly  called  the  meeting  to  order. 
"  Don't  never  neglect  your  vittles  for  stories,"  she 
urged,  and  her  practical  suggestion  broke  the  spell, 
and  they  all  fell  back  to  their  knife  exercise  with  a 
will. 

After  supper.  Uncle  Nathan  took  his  place  by  the 
window,  in  his  favorite  armchair.  John  found  an  old 
hat  and  coat,  and  went  out  to  help  Reuben  do  the 
chores.  Nellie  and  Aunt  Susan  cleared  away  the 
dishes.  It  was  growing  dark  rapidly,  yet  they  did 
not  light  a  lamp.  Uncle  Nathan  did  not  care  to 
read.  He  sat  watching  the  two  women  as  they 
moved  about  at  their  work.  Aunt  Susan  was  wash- 
ing, while  Nellie  wiped  and  arranged  the  dishes.  At 
last  the  work  was  done,  and  Aunt  Susan  hurried 
away  to  prepare  a  bed  for  John.  Nellie  brought  a 
lamp  to  the  table,  but  she  did  not  light  it,  for  Uncle 
Nathan  spoke  to  her  in  a  tone  she  had  never  noticed 
before. 

''  Come  here,  little  gal,  an'  set  by  me.  I  wanter 
tell  you  something  before  the  rest  come  in." 

She  brought  a  cricket  and  sat  down  at  his  side. 
He  had  always  been  her  favorite  uncle.  She  could 
hardl}^  remember  her  own  father,  and  this  gruff,  yet 
kind  man  had  always  made  her  his  pet.  Whatever 
Uncle  Nathan  said  had  always  been  a  law  from  which 
there  could  be  no  appeal.  She  had  always  been  his 
"little  gal,"  and  she  had  found  a  place  in  his  heart 
that  no  one  else  —  not  even  his  wife — had  ever 
found.     She  came  and  sat  on  the  cricket,  clasping 


BREEZETOWN's   WELCOIME  117 

both  hands  over  his  knee,  and  put  her  chin  upon 
them  just  as  she  had  done  so  often  before.  She 
looked  smilingly  at  his  face.  They  made  a  pretty 
picture,  sitting  there  in  the  moonlight.  The  sweet 
little  woman  leaning  so  lovingly  upon  the  grizzled 
old  man,  who  stroked  with  his  rough  hand  the  hair 
back  from  her  forehead. 

"  I  wanter  talk  to  my  little  gal,"  he  began.  *'  I 
wanter  talk  about  Archie  an'  John.  John  can  tell 
ye  a  good  deal  more  about  Archie  than  I  can.'* 

He  spoke  slowly,  and  stroked  her  hair  as  he 
talked.  She  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  into  his 
without  a  word. 

"  We  all  done  our  best  for  him,  done  the  best  we 
could,  but  John  done  more  than  any  of  us.  He  was 
jest  like  a  brother  to  Archie,  an'  I've  seen  him  time 
an'  agin  pick  him  up  an'  carry  him  along.  The  day 
Archie  died,  John  walked  right  up  to  the  muzzle  of 
a  gun,  an'  picked  him  a  bunch  of  flowers.  He  done 
it  for  you,  little  gal.  He  tried  to  tell  me  how  'twas, 
but  I  heard  Archie  talkin'  afore  John  went,  an'  I 
know  he  done  it  all  for  you.  Now,  little  gal,  when 
John  gives  you  what  Archie  sent,  I  want  you  shud 
remember  all  these  things.  There  ain't  no  truer 
man,  nowhere,  than  John  Eockwell  is,  if  he  was  the 
widder  Rockwell's  boy." 

Nellie  listened,  without  a  word,  to  what  Uncle  Na- 
than said.  Her  eyes  glistened  in  the  moonlight,  yet, 
when  she  rose  at  last,  she  w^as  smiling.  She  came, 
and  leaned  over  Uncle  Nathan's  chair,  and  pushed 
back  his  stiff  hair,  and  kissed  him  on  the  forehead, 
on  the  eyes,  on  the  cheeks,  and  at  last  square  on  the 


118  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

mouth.  The  old  soldier  laughed,  as  he  caught  her 
by  the  ear,  and  pulled  her  face  down  to  him.  He 
kissed  her,  and  then  rose  from  his  chair  and  guessed 
he'd  go  and  see  where  Aunt  Susan  had  gone.  He 
chuckled  and  pinched  Nellie's  cheeks,  as  he  gave  this 
shameless  reason  for  taking  himself  away.  He  dis- 
covered the  whereabouts  of  Aunt  Susan  so  well  that 
nothing  was  seen  of  either  of  them  for  an  hour. 

When  John  and  Reuben  came  in  from  the  barn, 
they  found  Nellie  sitting  alone  in  the  kitchen.  She 
sat  by  the  window,  looking  out  into  the  moonlight. 
Her  eyes  were  fix^l  upon  the  sandy  road  that  swept 
like  a  silver  ribbon  up  over  the  rocky  hills.  It  lay 
like  the  track  of  an  angel's  finger  before  the  house. 
Reuben  was  tired.  The  excitement  of  the  day  had 
been  too  much  for  him.  He  lay  on  a  lounge  in  the 
corner,  and  in  a  few  moments  was  fast  asleep. 

John  brought  in  the  milk,  and  strained  it  into  the 
pans.  He  washed  out  the  pail,  and  put  it  carefully 
on  the  shelf.  He  pulled  off  his  great  boots  at  last, 
and  put  on  a  pair  of  Uncle  Nathan's  slippers,  and  got 
into  the  soldier's  coat  again.  Somehow,  he  felt  braver 
in  his  uniform.  At  a  gesture  from  Nellie,  he  drew 
his  chair  to  the  window,  and  sat  in  bashful  silence 
opposite  her.  Poor  John,  he  dared  to  face  the  rebel 
sentry,  but  the  words  he  longed  to  speak  stuck  in  his 
throat.     Nellie  looked  up  from  the  road  at  last. 

*'  You  have  something  for  me,  haven't  you,  John  ?  " 
she  said,  almost  in  a  whisper,  while  her  eyes  seemed 
full  of  the  moonlight. 

And  John,  without  a  word,  placed  the  rough  letter 
and  the  curl  in  her  hand. 


breezetown's  welcome  119 

"Let  me  light  the  lamp,"  he  said,  with  awkward 
politeness,  but  she  motioned  him  to  keep  his  seat. 

She  leaned  up  against  the  window,  and  slowly 
read  the  note.  The  moonlight  was  bright  enough, 
yet  she  spent  a  long  time  over  the  little  piece  of  pa- 
per. John  sat  there  in  the  shadoAV,  with  a  feeling  in 
his  heart  like  that  of  a  man  who  has  thrown  his  life 
into  the  balance. 

How  like  an  angel  she  seemed  to  him,  as  she  sat 
with  the  moonlight  streaming  over  her.  She  was 
looking  directly  at  the  paper,  yet  her  eyes  held  a 
dreamy  expression  that  told  him  she  Avas  not  read- 
ing. What  if  she  should  speak  to  him  as  she  did 
before?  His  heart  grew  cold,  as  he  thought  of  such 
words,  and  he  felt  how  awkward  and  rough  he  was 
beside  her.  And  yet  he  felt  that  whatever  she  said 
must  be  right,  and  that  he  would  abide  by  it. 

Nellie  folded  the  paper  at  last,  and  put  it  in  her 
pocket.  She  did  not  take  her  eyes  from  the  hills 
for  a  long  time.  She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that 
John  was  waiting  there,  —  waiting  with  a  terrible 
doubt  in  his  heart  for  her  answer.  She  was  think- 
ing as  only  a  woman  can  think  at  such  times.  Her 
eyes  followed  the  sandy  road,  white  in  the  moonlight, 
as  it  climbed  higher  and  higher  up  the  rocky  hill,  to 
lose  itself  at  the  top  in  a  wide  space  of  glittering 
sand.  The  rough  stone  wall,  gray  with  age  and  ser^ 
vice,  followed  the  road,  and  seemed  to  join  it  at  the 
top  of  the  hill.  Nellie  watched  the  two  as  they  met. 
Who  could  read  her  thoughts  ?  Who  can  tell  what 
a  woman  thinks  when  the  great  question  of  her  life 
comes  up  and  demands  an  answer  ?   She  turned  from 


120  ANDERSON VILLE  VIOLETS 

the  window  at  last,  with  a  bright  face.  The  answer 
had  come  to  her,  and  she  had  dropped  all  her  doubt 
and  fear. 

John's  heart  almost  stopped  its  beating,  as  she  rose 
and  stepped  to  his  side.  A  feeling  he  had  never 
known  before  rose  in  his  heart,  as  she  took  his  great 
hand  in  both  of  hers,  and  whispered:  "Dear  John, 
I  am  so  sorry  I  ever  said  what  I  did  —  I  think  I  shall 
know  you  now —  I  am  sio-e  of  it." 

That  was  all  there  was  of  it.  Why  should  I  say 
more  ?  Who  that  has  one  spot  of  freshness  left  in 
his  heart  cannot  tell  how  John's  thirsty  soul  drank 
of  the  water  of  life,  as  she  brushed  back  his  hair,  and 
put  her  face  against  his  as  they  sat  in  the  golden 
moonlight,  telling  over  and  over  again  the  old,  old 
story,  ever  old,  yet  ever  new.  Why  should  I  say 
that  the  weary  years  behind  them  seemed  changed 
to  brightness,  and  how  the  future  seemed  to  them 
like  a  stair  of  gold  ?  The  dreams  of  3'outh  are  still 
the  same.  The  moon  smiled  in  upon  them,  and  laid 
its  kindly  hand  upon  their  heads  with  a  loving  bene- 
diction. Never  had  it  seen  greater  happiness  more 
truly  won. 

When  Uncle  Nathan  and  Aunt  Susan  came  back, 
the  lamp  was  lighted,  and  John  and  Nellie  sat  with 
the  table  between  them  ;  but  the  old  people  looked 
at  John's  face,  and  saw  that  the  letter  had  been 
answered  right. 

When  Uncle  Nathan  read  the  chapter  that  night, 
John  listened  attentively,  and  when  the  prayer  was 
offered,  who  should  kneel  with  the  rest  but  the 
"  widder  Rockwell's  boy  "  I 


breezetown's  welcome  121 

It  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  John  had  ever 
been  known  to  kneel,  and  Aunt  Susan  remarked  it. 
She  told  her  husband,  after  John  had  gone  to  bed, 
that  she  never  knew  before  that  John  was  a  "per- 
fessor."  She  hoped  he  wouldn't  change  his  mind,  for 
"  them  suddin'  awakenin's  is  shaky." 

Nellie  blushed  and  smiled  at  the  sage  remark.  She 
knew  that  John's  conversion  was  a  permanent  one. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

AFTER   THE   WAR 

The  soldiers  could  not  settle  down  to  anything 
like  regular  work  for  a  long  time.  There  were  too 
many  stories  to  be  told.  So  many  reminiscences 
were  constantly  coming  to  mind  that  it  seemed  im- 
possible to  pick  up  the  dull  routine  of  country  life 
at  once.  The  whole  North  was  one  great  blaze  of 
patriotism.  Sober  work  was  well  nigh  impossible, 
while  the  excitement  lasted.  It  was  hardest  for  Un- 
cle Nathan  to  forget  the  stirring  days  of  the  march 
to  the  sea.  He  read,  with  keen  interest,  all  that  the 
papers  had  to  say  concerning  the  state  of  affairs  at 
the  South.  At  some  particularly  startling  news  he 
would  take  hoe  in  hand  and  vent  his  feelings  upon 
the  weeds  in  his  garden.  The  vegetables  that  year 
were  noted  for  their  excellence. 

The  old  soldier  was  never  tired  of  fighting  his  bat- 
tles over  and  over.  It  will  be  noticed  that  these  oft- 
repeated  battles  grow  in  vigor  and  importance  as 
they  are  fought  over.  Any  statement  concerning  a 
battle  in  whicli  Uncle  Nathan  had  taken  part  was 
enough  to  wind  him  up  for  an  hour's  talk  —  and  he 
was  always  sure  of  an  audience. 

The  village  people  listened,  day  after  day,  to  tlie 
story   of  the    escape    from    Andersonville,    without 

122 


AFTER   THE   WAR  123 

tiring  of  it.  They  would  sit  with  open  mouths,  as 
Uncle  Nathan  pictured  the  scene,  or  gave  a  practical 
illustration  of  the  way  in  which  lie  overcame  the 
Confederate  guard.  Sol  and  the  fat  soldier  came  to 
be  well  known  personages  in  Breezetown.  One  class 
of  citizens,  of  which  Reuben  was  a  very  good  exam- 
})le,  could  not  see  why  Sol  had  not  done  about  as 
much  to  preserve  the  Union  as  old  Abe  Lincoln 
himself. 

"  Do  yo-u  have  any  idee  you  killed  that  fat  man, 
Uncle  Nathan  ?  "  Reuben  asked  this  question,  after 
listening  to  the  story  for  the  fiftieth  time. 

"Wal,  I  never  cud  tell  how  'twas.  Ye  see  his 
head  must  V  ben  putty  hard  or  he  wouldn't  'a'  gin 
me  the  chance  at  him,  but  then,  agin,  I  hit  him  a 
putty  hard  crack.  I  call  it  about  a  tie,  an'  I  hope 
the  chances  is  in  his  favor.  One  thing  is  sartin — I 
don't  s'pose  that  dog  never  showed  no  signs  of  life 
agin." 

It  was  much  easier  for  John  to  settle  down  and 
forget  the  war  times.  He  found  himself  quite  a 
hero  among  the  village  people.  Uncle  Nathan  was 
never  tired  of  singing  the  praises  of  his  comrade. 
He  was  glad  to  put  John  ahead,  as  an  example  of 
wliat  "Maine  men"  could  accomplish.  There  may 
have  been  something  in  the  fact,  too,  that  every 
brave  act  of  John's  introduced  one  in  which  he  had 
figured. 

"It  tuck  grit  to  do  them  things,  an'  there  warn't 
no  grittier  soldiers  in  the  army  than  them  that  went 
from  the  State  o'  Maine.  I  s'pose  John,  here,  done 
about  the  grittiest  thing  that  was  done  down  there." 


124  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

John  would  blush  painfully  at  this  glowing  eulogy, 
prouder  by  far  of  the  glad  look  in  Nellie's  eyes  than 
of  the  whole  chorus  of,  "  I  declare,"  and,  "  I  vow,  it 
beats  all,"  and  the  admiring  glances  of  the  audience. 
He  had  told  Nellie  the  whole  story  of  the  Anderson- 
ville  violets,  and  she  had  complimented  his  bravery, 
in  a  way  that  made  John  wish  he  could  find  a  chance 
to  do  the  like  again.  They  were  speaking  about  it 
one  Sunday  afternoon,  when  Nellie  suddenly  said  :  — 

"I  wonder  what  made  that  man  let  you  pass  over 
and  get  the  flowers?" 

''  I  don't  know,"  said  John.  "  P'raps  he  had  some 
one  at  home  like  you.  That's  about  the  only  thing 
that  would  make  me  do  it." 

''  Ain't  you  ashamed  ?  "  said  Nellie,  blushing  with 
pleasure  at  John's  honest  compliment. 

"  Not  a  mite.  I  don't  see  nothing  to  be  ashamed 
of." 

Nellie  did  not  seem  to  see  anything  either,  yet,  of 
course,  it  would  not  do  to  let  John  know  it.  After 
a  long  silence,  Nellie  spoke  again  :  — 

''I  would  like  to  see  him,  John." 

"What  for?"  demanded  John. 

"Oh,  because"  —  and  she  ended  the  conversation 
by  brushing  John's  hair  down  over  his  eyes,  and 
then  running  away.  Neither  of  them  knew  how 
soon  they  were  to  see  Jack  Foster  again,  and  learn 
the  true  reason  of  his  conduct.  Sureljs  these  were 
golden  days  for  John.  He  worked  on  Uncle  Na- 
than's farm  in  a  way  that  startled  the  neiglibors. 
His  heart  was  in  the  work,  and  he  never  knew  what 
fatigue  meant.     Politics  meant  nothing  to  him :  he 


AFTER   THE  WAR  *     125 

was  planning  for  Nellie's  comfort.  As  the  little 
woman  grew  rosy  and  bright  with  happiness,  John 
grew  away  from  his  old  awkward  self.  He  grew  to 
be  a  strong,  earnest  man,  with  but  one  idea,  and 
that  one  the  noblest  that  a  man  ever  can  have,  —  to 
give  his  life  up  to  the  happiness  of  the  one  woman 
he  loves.  So  they  lived  on,  drawing  more  and  more 
of  the  rays  of  happiness  to  the  old  farmhouse. 

In  the  latter  part  of  July,  John  got  a  letter  that 
produced  quite  an  excitement  in  the  little  household. 
It  was  from  the  colonel  of  John's  regiment  —  not  the 
one  in  which  he  had  served  at  first,  for  that  had 
been  swallowed  up  at  Andersonville,  but  the  one 
he  had  joined  after  the  escape.  In  consequence  of 
the  free  and  easy  style  of  marching  adopted  by  Sher- 
man's army,  John  had  several  times  been  thrown 
into  close  relationship  with  Colonel  Gray.  The  offi- 
cer, a  warm-hearted  Western  man,  had  taken  a  great 
fancy  to  the  sturdy  Yankee,  and  after  the  war  he 
had  kept  track  of  him.  He  wrote  now,  to  offer 
John  a  position.  Shortly  after  the  close  of  the  war, 
Colonel  Gray  had  bought  a  large  plantation  in  Mis- 
sissippi. It  was  badly  run  down,  and  he  bought  it 
for  a  small  sum,  expecting  to  go  himself  and  build  it 
up.  Like  many  Northern  soldiers,  he  hoped  to  settle 
at  the  South,  and  take  advantage  of  her  great  nat- 
ural advantages.  A  proffered  office  in  one  of  the 
Territories  had  tempted  him  to  give  up  his  farm 
operations,  and  he  wrote  to  try  and  induce  John  to 
go  down  and  practise  a  little  Northern  agriculture 
on  Southern  soil. 

"  The  chance  seems  a  good  one,"  he  wrote.    "  You 


126     "  ANDERSONVTLLE   VIOLETS 

know  how  these  cotton  planters  have  abused  their 
land,  and  what  can  be  done  in  tiiat  country  with 
regular,  systematized  work.  You  are  just  the  man 
to  go  down  and  take  hold  of  this  place,  and  make  it 
worth  something.  I  am  satisfied  that  you  could 
make  it  a  very  profitable  property,  and  help  yourself 
in  many  ways.  I  do  not  look  for  very  much  trouble. 
Society  may  be  broken  up,  for  a  time,  to  some  ex- 
tent, yet  the  war  memories  must  be  buried,  since 
there  is  now  nothing  to  fight  about.  The  Northern 
men,  who  are  flocking  by  the  thousands  to  the  South, 
will,  in  my  opinion,  with  the  aid  of  the  negro,  over- 
come the  more  turbulent  class  of  Southerners.  The 
soldiers  of  the  rebel  army  will  be  glad,  I  think,  to 
drop  the  contest,  and  develop  the  arts  of  peace." 

At  the  close  of  the  war  it  is  probable  that  a  good 
share  of  the  thinking  Union  soldiers  held  about  these 
ideas  in  regard  to  the  state  of  affairs  at  the  South. 
As  slavery  had  been  killed,  they  could  not  see  why 
the  North  and  the  South  could  not  be  one. 

This  letter  was  a  sore  temptation  to  John.  With 
New  England  thrift,  he  had  made  many  a  calculation 
as  to  what  these  plantations  could  be  made  to  accom- 
plish. He  had  figured  many  a  time  how,  with  one  of 
these  great  farms  at  his  command,  he  could  make  a  for- 
tune such  as  Breezetown's  rocky  hills  could  never 
know.  He  never  made  a  single  suggestion,  however, 
when  the  letter  came.  He  was  sitting  in  the  kitchen 
with  Nellie  tliat  night  when  Reuben  brought  the 
letter  from  town.  Uncle  Nathan  and  Aunt  Susan 
had  gone  to  make  a  visit.  Reuben,  with  his  charac- 
teristic watchfulness,  fell  asleep  on  the  lounge  before 


AFTER  THE  WAR  127 

John  finished  reading  the  letter.  John  was  not  a 
great  literary  man,  and  he  read  the  letter  through 
slowly  and  carefully  before  he  could  get  its  real 
meaning.  When  he  had  finished  he  handed  it  to 
Nellie  without  a  word.  She  put  down  her  work  and 
read  it  through  with  a  troubled  face.  Her  under 
lip  quivered  as  she  put  the  letter  down  at  last. 

"  Please  don't  go,  John,"  she  said.  "  I  could  not 
leave  home  now." 

John  said  never  a  word  in  reply.  He  folded  up 
the  letter  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  just  listened 
to  some  unanswerable  argument.  He  smiled  a  little 
as  he  thought  how  utterly  impossible  it  would  be  for 
him  to  go  when  she  wished  him  to  stay.  Nellie 
watched  him  with  eyes  that  glistened  a  little.  She 
came  and  stood  at  the  back  of  his  chair  and  ran  her 
fingers  through  his  hair,  and  at  last  bent  over  and 
kissed  him.  She  had  read  his  thoughts  perfectly. 
John  could  not  have  concealed  them  from  her  if  he 
had  tried. 

"  I  know  you  would  like  to  be  rich  and  famous 
for  my  sake,"  she  whispered  to  him,  "  but  I  don't 
mind.  I  know  I  can  make  you  happy  here,  and  that 
is  better  for  us  both,  isn't  it?  " 

John  answered  in  a  way  that  left  very  little  doubt 
as  to  his  sincerity,  and  Nellie  went  back  to  her  work, 
happy  again.  John  picked  up  the  county  paper. 
The  first  thing  his  eyes  fell  upon  was  a  little  poem 
in  the  "  Poets'  Corner."  He  had  not  read  a  line  of 
poetry  for  years,  yet  he  studied  this  poem  out  word 
by  word  —  he  knew  not  why.  It  was  a  simple  little 
thing ;  there  was  not  even  a  name  to  it. 


128  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

The  sun  went  merrily  up  the  hills 
That  stood  like  sentinels  grim  and  gray 

Between  the  vale  and  the  busy  world 
Where  fame  and  honor  and  fortune  lay. 

The  shepherd  wistfully  watched  the  light 
Fade  over  the  mountains  far  and  dim. 

Could  he  but  follow  and  find  the  place 
Where  fame's  bright  mantle  was  waiting  him? 

A  soft  hand  tenderly  touched  his  arm, 
A  sweet  voice  spoke  in  his  waiting  ear: 

Fame  lies  over  the  mountain  high, 
Love  and  happiness  yet  are  here. 

The  sun  went  over  the  hills  alone, 

Touching  1  he  sky  with  a  crimson  flame. 

Men  may  long  to  be  great,  yet  still 
Love  is  better  by  far  than  fame. 

John  studied  away  at  the  poetry  until  Nellie  came 
and  pulled  the  paper  away  from  him.  He  woke 
Reuben  and  sent  him  off  to  bed,  where  he  could  slum- 
ber on  a  more  economical  basis.  Then  John  came 
back  to  the  table  and  thought  the  poetry  over  till 
Uncle  Nathan  and  Aunt  Susan  came  home.  He 
kept  the  little  poem  in  his  mind,  and  studied  over  it 
for  many  a  day.  Nellie  cut  it  out  of  the  paper  and 
pasted  it  into  her  scrap-book. 

John  wrote  Colonel  Gray  a  plain  letter,  telling  liini 
honestly  the  reason  for  declining  the  offer.  Tlie 
''little  girl"  that  he  praised  so  proudly  looked  over 
his  shoulder  and  boxed  his  ears  for  daring  to  write 
what  she  loved  so  well  to  see.  Why  a  woman  will 
take  such  forcible  and  contradictory  methods  of  in- 
dicating her  pleasure,  will  always  remain  one  of  the 
mysteries  of  nature.     Surely  these  were  golden  days 


AFTER  THE   WAR  129 

for  honest  John,  though  at  times  the  hours  seemed 
to  crawl  by  with  lagging  footsteps.  At  last  the 
nights  began  to  grow  cool,  and  the  first  frosts  bit 
savagely  at  the  flowers  and  grass.  The  fall  is  the 
saddest  season  of  the  year.  It  is  the  season  of  death. 
To  John,  however,  it  was  the  season  of  life. 

Thanksgiving  day  came  at  last,  and  John  and  Nel- 
lie were  married.  They  tried  to  have  a  quiet  wed- 
ding, but  the  village  people  would  not  hear  of  this 
at  all.  All  Breezetown  crowded  into  the  weather- 
beaten  church,  and  when  John  and  Nellie  stood  up 
before  the  pulpit,  every  woman  envied  Nellie  and 
every  man  envied  John.  Reuben  drove  them  home 
in  fine  style  to  eat  the  great  dinner  that  Aunt  Susan 
had  prepared.  Even  old  Whitey  entered  into  the 
spirit  of  the  occasion.  He  kicked  up  his  heels  and 
fairly  Tan  down  hill,  something  he  had  not  done  since 
Nellie  was  a  baby.  It  may  have  been  Reuben's  stick 
that  taught  old  Whitey  this  complimentary  caper, 
but  let  us  not  take  such  a  practical  view  of  it.  Let 
us  believe  it  was  pure  sentiment  that  pulled  up  the 
heels. 

After  dinner  Uncle  Nathan  made  a  speech  to  the 
company.  He  closed  with  his  old  eulogy  of  Maine 
men  in  general  and  John  in  particular,  and  then,  not 
knowing  of  any  compliment  strong  enough  to  do 
anything  like  justice  to  Nellie,  he  kissed  her,  and 
then  hurried  out  into  the  woodshed,  ostensibly  to 
get  some  fuel,  but  really  to  blow  his  nose.  Many 
men  like  Uncle  Nathan  are  obliged  to  relieve  tlie 
heart  through  the  nose.  Would  that  there  were 
more  of  them.     The  company  had  a  very  merry  time 


130  ANDERSONVILLB   VIOLETS 

with  singing  and  games,  till  at  last  they  went  away 
with  many  a  heartfelt  wish  for  the  happiness  of  the 
young  couple.  And  John  and  Nellie  standing  at  the 
door  to  bid  their  good  friends  good-night,  he  like  a 
strong,  rugged  oak,  and  she  like  a  tender,  clinging 
vine,  felt  indeed  that  the  world  was  opening  before 
them  bright  and  fair. 

The  days  went  by  like  sunbeams  in  the  little 
household.  Each  day  left  a  little  of  its  brightness 
as  a  sweet  memory.  Reuben  grew  up  under  John's 
influence,  into  a  faithful  boy.  Uncle  Nathan  grew 
more  grizzled  as  the  years  went  by.  His  eyesight 
began  to  give  out  at  last,  and  even  his  spectacles 
failed  to  enable  him  to  read  all  the  political  news,  of 
which  he  was  so  fond.  This  eye  trouble  induced 
him  to  take  a  great  interest  in  Reuben's  elocutionary 
training.  He  pressed  the  young  gentleman  into  the 
service,  and,  by  means  of  promised  help  at  the  chores, 
bribed  him  to  read  aloud  the  long  statements  and  in- 
terviews concerning  the  South  that  filled  up  the 
papers  at  that  time.  It  was  funny  to  watch  the  two 
politicians  thrashing  the  grain  out  of  the  political 
stack  —  Reuben  slowly  and  painfully  struggling 
through  the  long  words,  skipping  or  widely  guessing 
at  the  meanings,  and  glancing  every  few  moments 
at  the  end  to  see  how  much  there  was  left,  and 
the  gray  old  man  listening  patiently  in  his  armchair, 
putting  in  a  word  now  and  then,  or  explaining  with 
a  theory  of  his  own  some  intricate  point. 

If  Reuben  did  not  make  a  very  strong  Republican, 
it  was  surely  no  fault  of  Uncle  Nathan's.  Some- 
times Nellie  would  take  Reuben's  place  as  reader. 


AFTER   THE  WAR  131 

This  would  make  the  audience  larger,  for  John 
would  come  and  listen  —  believing  every  word  be- 
cause she  read  it.  Uncle  Nathan  and  Reuben  even 
carried  their  political  discussions  into  the  barn, 
where  the  old  man  went  to  pay  in  work  for  the 
reading. 

"  You  said  they  give  them  niggers  twenty  licks 
apiece,  didn't  ye  ?  "  Uncle  Nathan  would  ask,  the 
more  fully  to  digest  some  point  of  the  reading. 

"  That's  jest  what  the  paper  said,"  Reuben  would 
answer  stoutly.  Printers'  ink  was  to  him  but  a  syn- 
onym for  truth.  "  They  tied  'em  up  to  a  tree,  an' 
licked  'em  awful,  an'  they  had  something  like  white 
piller  cases  on  their  heads,  an'  sheets  tied  around 
'em." 

"  An'  them  is  the  folks  that  fit  us  so  hard,"  Uncle 
Nathan  would  answer.  **  I  wish  I'd  'a'  been  there 
with  sech  a  company  as  we  tuk  outer  here.  It  beats 
all,"  and  he  fed  the  young  heifer  with  so  much  vio- 
lence that  that  innocent  creature  started  back  in 
alarm  at  the  force  with  which  her  food  was  pre- 
sented. He  would  go  muttering  his  displeasure  at 
Southern  outrages,  down  past  the  cattle.  It  was 
woe  then  to  the  unfortunate  animal  that  kicked  out 
at  him.  Such  an  action  would  force  the  kicker  to 
act  as  a  scapegoat  for  all  the  Ku  Klux  that  Uncle 
Nathan  had  ever  heard  of. 

But  John  and  Nellie  had  no  need  to  hire  Reuben 
to  read  to  them.  John  took  no  interest  in  politics. 
He  always  voted,  but  as  far  as  discussing  the  ques- 
tions as  Uncle  Nathan  did,  he  felt  that  he  had  much 
better  business  in  hand.     What  was  it  to  him  what 


132  ANDERSON VILLE  VIOLETS 

the  politicians  thought,  when  there  was  sometliiiig 
to  do  to  make  Nellie  happy  ? 

So  the  days  went  by,  and  after  a  few  bright  years 
had  joined  their  hearts  closer  than  ever,  there  came 
a  new  member  into  the  family,  to  share  tlie  sun- 
shine. It  was  a  little  Nellie,  with  the  same  bright 
golden  hair  and  the  same  blue  eyes.  She  grew  into 
a  sober  little  tot  of  a  girl,  with  John's  honest  face 
and  quiet  ways,  and  Nellie's  gentleness.  The  whole 
family  grew  wondrous  proud  of  the  little  treasure. 
Aunt  Susan  would  do  her  best  to  make  the  little 
thing  sick  by  feeding  it  upon  little  cakes  and  other 
home  confectionery.  Reuben  would  even  try  to 
keep  awake  for  the  sake  of  holding  the  baby. 
Uncle  Nathan  would  allow  her  to  pull  his  nose  and 
whiskers,  without  a  word  of  complaint.  The  dear 
little  baby  would  always  pull  her  own  hair  just  as 
hard  as  she  pulled  the  whiskers,  and  then,  finding 
how  she  must  have  hurt  Uncle  Nathan,  she  would 
kiss  him  to  make  matters  right.  No  wonder  he 
never  complained.  John  was  proudest  of  them  all. 
The  little  girl  would  always  come  toddling  out  to 
meet  him  as  he  came  in  from  work.  She  would 
often  run  in  advance  of  her  mother,  that  she  might 
get  the  first  kiss.  John  would  lift  her  on  his  shoul- 
der and  carry  her  in  triumph  into  the  house.  Every 
night,  just  before  baby  was  put  to  bed,  John  would 
take  her  on  his  knee  and  ask  her  a  series  of  ques- 
tions, that  might  well  take  the  place  of  many  a 
prayer.  The  little  girl  was  always  tired  and  sleepy, 
yet  she  would  always  answer  just  the  same. 

"  Do  you  love  mamma  ?  "  —  John  would  ask  the 


AFTER   THE   WAR  133 

question  as  the  little  one  nestled  up  to  him,  while 
Nellie  would  stop  her  work  while  she  listened  for  the 
answer. 

"  Es,  I  does." 

"  And  papa  too  ?  " 

"  Es,  I  does." 

"  Which  .do  you  love  the  best  ?  " 

This  was  always  a  tough  question  for  the  little 
girl  to  decide.  Sometimes  it  had  to  be  repeated  be- 
fore she  would  answer.  At  last,  after  carefully 
thinking  the  matter  over,  she  would  say  : 

"  I  love  ou  bof  the  best." 

This  was  always  most  satisfactory  to  John,  and  he 
would  explain  the  triangular  bond  that  held  them 
all  together.  During  liis  explanation,  Uncle  Nathan 
would  sit  and  smile  over  his  spectacles  at  the  loving 
group. 

"  I  love  mamma  the  best,  and  mamma  loves  me 
the  best,  and  baby  loves  us  both  the  best." 

This  explanation  would  satisfy  all  parties  so  well 
that  when  Nellie  came  to  take  the  little  girl  away  to 
bed,  there  was  always  a  triangular  kiss,  where  it  was 
very  hard  to  say  which  one  had  any  advantage. 
John  would  go  back  to  his  work,  thinking  himself 
the  happiest  man  in  the  world,  and  Nellie  would 
sing  beside  the  little  one's  bed  the  sweetest  music 
human  ears  can  ever  hear. 

The  little  girl  changed  John  and  Nellie  in  many 
waj^s.  They  felt  that  this  little  life  had  been  given 
them  to  build  up  and  develop.  It  seemed  as  if  all 
the  good  in  their  lives  had  centred  in  this  little  one. 
The  baby  fingers  pulled  their  hearts  still  closer  to- 


134  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

gether,  so  that  while  they  loved  each  other  even 
more  than  before,  they  had  still  a  wealth  of  love  to 
bestow  upon  the  baby.  As  the  little  Nellie  grew 
older  and  developed  more  and  more  of  her  baby 
graces,  a  feeling  came  to  John  and  Nellie  that  all 
young  parents  probably  experience.  It  was  a  desire 
to  educate  their  little  girl  and  give  her  every  advan- 
tage of  refinement  and  culture.  They  planned  for 
her  hundreds  of  things  that  they  well  knew  the  sim- 
ple country  home  and  the  sandy  farm  could  never 
provide. 

By  the  time  baby  was  five  years  old,  John  and 
Nellie  had  determined  to  adopt  some  plan  for  im- 
proving their  circumstances.  John  had  long  since 
found  the  farm  growing  too  narrow  for  him.  He 
began  to  feel,  as  he  told  Nellie,  "like  a  man  workin' 
in  a  peck  measure."  Perhaps  his  ideas  had  broad- 
ened since  the  baby  began  to  be  so  much  like  her 
mother.  Reuben  was  now  a  young  man,  and  fully 
able,  with  Uncle  Nathan's  help,  to  carry  on  all  the 
farm  work.  There  was  a  good  living  to  be  made  on 
the  farm,  but  no  money  with  which  to  care  for  the 
little  girl  as  they  wished  to  do. 

John  and  Nellie  talked  the  matter  over  many 
times  after  baby  had  fallen  asleep.  They  decided 
that  they  would  make  any  sacrifice  that  might  be 
demanded,  so  that  baby  might  be  helped.  It  was 
Nellie  who  at  last  proposed  a  plan  that  John  had 
often  thought  of,  yet  never  had  spoken.  They  were 
standing  one  night  at  little  Nellie's  bed,  looking  at 
the  little  dreamer.  Nellie  had  been  quiet  and 
thoughtful  all  day.     John  had  noticed  it.     She  bent 


AFTER   THE   WAR  135 

down  to  brush  back  the  baby's  hair,  and  then  sud- 
denly turned  and  put  her  hand  on  John's  shoulder. 
She  was  obliged  to  reach  up  to  put  her  hand  there, 
for  the  top  of  her  head  did  not  rise  higher  than  John's 
heart.  John  looked  down  at  her  with  a  feeling  in 
his  heart  that  always  brought  the  look  into  his  eyes 
that  she  loved  to  see. 

"  Do  you  think  we  could  have  that  place  at  the 
South  now,  John  ?  I  would  be  willing  to  go  now,  I 
think." 

She  whispered  this  slowly  and  glanced  at  the 
sleeping  baby.  John  understood  her.  There  was 
a  strange  huskiness  in  his  voice  as  he  said :  — 

"  My  dear  little  woman,  what  can  I  ever  do  to  pay 
you  for  this  ?  " 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  bright  smile  that  told 
him  how  she  could  be  paid.  There  was  but  little 
more  said  about  the  matter.  Both  knew  what  a 
sacrifice  the  little  woman  had  made  in  thus  offering 
to  leave  her  home  for  the  sake  of  baby.  John 
wrote  at  once  to  Colonel  Gray,  and  stated  his  case 
with  Yankee  honesty ;•  The  officer  wrote  an  enthu- 
siastic letter  and  urged  John  to  go  down  at  once. 
The  plantation  had  been  run  by  negroes  since  it  was 
bought,  and  needed  more  than  ever  a  good  man  to 
take  charge  of  it. 

"  We  hear,  of  course,  a  great  many  reports  of  vio- 
lence in  that  country,"  he  wrote,  "  but  I  think  many 
of  them  are  exaggerated.  I  feel  sure  that  a  man 
who  will  mind  his  own  business  and  keep  out  of 
politics  will  be  safe  enough.  In  any  event,  they 
won't  run  an    old  soldier  like  you  very  far  —  and 


13G  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

by  the  way,"  he  continued,  with  a  soldier's  gal- 
lantry, "  I  wish  you  would  kiss  that  little  soldier  of  a 
woman  and  that  little  girl  for  me  ;  of  course  I  can't 
do  it  myself.  I'm  afraid  of  you.  You  are  a  lucky 
man,  Rockwell,  and  I  wish  I  was  in  your  place." 

It  is  needless  for  me  to  say  that  John  carried  out 
these  suggestions  to  the  letter,  and  fully  agreed  that 
he  was  a  "  lucky  man." 

And  so  they  decided  to  go.  John  helped  through 
the  summer's  work,  and  then  went  with  Nellie  on  a 
short  trip  to  bid  all  their  friends  good-by.  Most  of 
the  old  people  shook  their  heads  dubiously  when 
they  learned  where  the  young  folks  were  going. 

''  Better  stop  right  where  ye  be.  Ye're  doin'  well 
'nough  now.  Ye're  jest  takin'  yer  life  right  inter  yer 
ban's  when  ye  go  down  inter  that  country,"  dismally 
urged  one  old  croaker. 

Uncle  Natlian  always  came  to  the  rescue  when 
such  attacks  were  made. 

"  I'd  resk  my  life  in  John's  hands  jest  about's 
quick  ez  I'd  put  it  anywhere,  I  tell  ye,"  he  would 
declare,  stoutly.  No  one  conjd  give  John  a  better 
character  for  carefulness  than  this,  surely.  It  was 
very  hard  work  for  Uncle  Nathan  to  advise  John 
and  Nellie  to  leave  the  old  home,  but  he  brought 
himself  to  do  it  at  last.  He  knew  how  much  of  the 
home  happiness  and  sunshine  tlie  little  family  would 
take  out  of  his  life,  yet  the  noble  old  man  knew  just 
how  John  felt.  He  was  willing  that  the  last  of  his 
life  might  be  darkened  a  little  so  that  those  he  loved 
might  come  to  him  at  last  with  brighter  and  happier 
lives. 


AFTER   THE   WAR  137 

"  I  dunno  but  ye're  doin'  jest  what  I  shud  do, 
John,"  he  said  bravely,  "if  I  was  in  yer  place.  I 
can't  blame  ye  a  mite.  That  little  gal  comes  about 
as  nigh  ter  bein'  an  angel  as  I  ever  see.  Looks  jest 
as  if  the  Lord  hed  picked  out  all  the  good  pints  you 
an'  Nellie  ever  hed  an'  bundled  'em  together  so  tight 
tliat  all  the  bad  pints  got  squeezed  out.  But  you 
don't  wanter  make  too  much  of  an  idol  out  o'  her, 
John.     That  won't  do,  noway." 

Uncle  Nathan  always  began  these  talks  bravely 
enough,  but  he  never  could  finish  without  being 
forced  to  go  out-of-doors  to  blow  his  nose. 

At  last  the  time  came  for  starting.  Who  can 
describe  the  feelings  that  come  into  the  heart  when 
such  a  farewell  is  spoken  ?  It  is  a  sad  scene,  that 
haunts  one  for  a  lifetime.  How  the  heart  seems 
ready  to  burst,  how  the  throat  fills  with  something 
we  cannot  control,  how  the  eyes  ivill  fill  with  tears, 
how  doubly  dear  each  old  association  seems,  how 
the  sweet  home  music  rings  in  our  ears.  It  is 
the  saddest  and  tenderest  picture  of  a  life.  It  is 
cut  into  the  heart,  and  long,  long  years  after,  we 
look  back  to  it  with  souls  that  pine  for  the  old  home 
rest,  and  almost  wish  we  had  turned  back  at  the 
trial. 

It  was  hard  indeed  for  the  young  people  to  leave 
the  old  home,  where  they  had  been  so  happy  ;  but 
the  thought  of  little  Nellie  kept  the  tears  back,  and 
strengthened  their  hearts  for  the  trial.  There  was 
no  great  "  scene  "  at  parting,  and  they  were  all  glad 
of  it.  A  natural  home  picture  is  the  best  that  one 
can  take  away  at  such  a  time.     The  stage  was  a 


138  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

trifle  late,  and  they  were  glad  to  hear  Sam  Jones  call 
out,  "  Hurry  up,  no  time  to  lose  !  "  In  the  bustle  of 
a  hurried  departure,  they  might  forget  something  of 
their  grief.  All  the  home  people  kissed  Nellie  and 
the  baby  and  shook  hands  with  John.  Uncle  Nathan 
gave  him  a  great  grip. 

"  I  wish  I  was  goin'  with  ye,"  he  said  ;  "  I'm  too 
old,  I  s'pose,  but  I'd  like  to  go.  Don't  ever  back 
down  a  might  afore  them  fellers,  an'  don't  never 
forgit  whar  ye  come  frum." 

The  old  man  held  a  shoe  in  his  hand,  which  he 
proposed  throwing  after  the  stage  for  good  luck. 
The  stage  rolled  away  at  last  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  It 
disappeared  over  the  hill,  and  the  home  folks  went 
back  to  their  work.  The  immigrants  kissed  the 
little  girl  that  drew  them  away  from  home,  and  then 
resolutely  set  their  faces  to  the  future. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

A    SOUTHERN    TOWN 

John  and  Nellie  reached  Sharpsburg  on  Saturday. 
They  stood  on  the  platform  of  the  station  and 
looked  about  thera  with  the  peculiar  feeling  that 
every  Northern  person  experiences  on  entering  a 
Southern  town.  It  is  a  feeling  that  can  hardly  be 
described.  A  mingled  feeling  of  distrust,  curiosity, 
surprise,  and  criticism.  All  the  old  stories  that  have 
been  told  concerning  the  country  and  people  crowd 
into  the  mind,  and  the  first  impulse  is  to  look  about 
to  see  how  much  of  the  record  appears  to  be  true. 
The  first  impression  is  not  generally  calculated  to 
put  the  mind  at  rest.  Everything  was  different 
from  the  order  of  things  at  home.  There  was  no 
great  stir  and  bustle  of  business.  A  good  crowd  of 
people  had  gathered  about  the  station,  yet  there  was 
no  excitement.  Every  one  seemed  to  have  plenty  of 
time  to  think  matters  thoroughly  over  before  begin- 
ning to  work.  A  few  white  men  stood  listlessly 
about,  watching  the  train  with  eyes  entirely  devoid  of 
curiosity.  Not  one  stood  erect.  Every  one  of  them 
leaned  against  some  convenient  post  or  wall.  On  a 
platform  opposite  the  station  a  group  of  negroes 
were  busy  unloading  a  bale  of  cotton  from  a  wagon. 
The  workers,  mules,  negroes,  and  all,  had  suspended 

139 


140  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

operations  to  watch  the  train.  A  crowd  of  ragged 
darkies,  with  clothes  that  hung  about  them  in  tat- 
ters, swarmed  about  the  steps  or  sat  in  a  long  row  in 
the  shade  at  the  rear.  The  train  seemed  to  have 
stopped  in  a  most  unpromising  portion  of  the  town. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  save  a  few  rough  un- 
painted  negro  cabins,  and  a  little  blacksmith's  shop, 
the  most  striking  feature  of  which  was  a  glaring 
mistake  in  the  spelling  of  the  sign.  The  wliite  men 
stared  curiously  at  John,  but  they  stepped  back  and 
touched  their  hats  as  Nellie  appeared. 

As  the  passengers  paused  on  the  platform,  one  of 
the  most  ragged  of  all  the  little  negroes  ran  up  the 
steps  and  pushed  his  remnant  of  a  hat  up  from  his 
forehead  by  way  of  salute. 

"  Hotel,  boss  ?  Bes'  in  de  city  !  whar  all  de  gem- 
mens  stop  at,"  he  said  as  he  caught  at  John's  satchel. 

John  looked  at  the  little  fellow  with  a  smile.  He 
thought  how  easily  he  could  carry  the  darky  and 
the  satchel,  too.  It  seemed  absurd  for  such  a  little, 
ragged  shadow  of  humanity  to  offer  to  do  work  for 
a  strong  man. 

"Show  us  the  way  to  the  tavern,"  he  said,  "an' 
I'll  carry  the  bag." 

But  the  boy  pulled  the  baggage  away,  and,  plac- 
ing it  carefully  on  his  head,  skipped  merrily  along 
before  his  patrons.  John  and  Nellie,  each  holding  a 
hand  of  the  little  girl,  followed  their  conductor. 

The  newly  arrived  Yankees  did  not  present  a 
remarkably  imposing  appearance  as  they  walked  up 
the  street  from  the  station.  The  little  walking  rag- 
bag that  led  the  way  trotted  on  with  the  satchel  on 


A  SOUTHERN  TOWN  141 

his  head.  He  balanced  the  burden  with  one  hand, 
while  the  other  was  occupied  in  holding  his  various 
garments  about  him.  His  costume  was  of  such  a 
fragmentary  nature  that  a  good  shake  would  have 
taken  it  entirely  from  him.  The  various  fractions 
of  garments  were  held  together  by  a  series  of  strings 
that  met  at  a  common  centre  as  though  to  brace 
themselves  for  a  strong  pull.  It  was  such  a  ludi- 
crous sight  that  John  and  Nellie  could  not  help 
laughing,  though  Nellie's  first  impulse  was  to  offer 
to  patch  the  garment  that  sinned  most  visibly.  The 
walking  rag-bag  turned  at  the  sound  and  joined  in 
the  laugh  as  heartily  as  any  of  them,  though  he 
knew  nothing  of  the  cause  of  the  laughter.  It  was 
such  a  cheap  exercise,  and  one  so  pleasurable  to  him, 
that  he  was  glad  to  join.  By  a  skilful  movement,  he 
changed  the  occupation  of  his  hands  without  drop- 
ping the  satchel  or  his  clothes.  Then  he  trotted  on 
again.  As  they  walked  along,  John  could  not  help 
thinking  how  Uncle  Nathan  would  have  groaned  at 
the  lack  of  thrift  and  care  everywhere  visible.  The 
town  was  built  on  a  series  of  low  hills,  over  which 
the  streets  lamely  progressed.  Great  gulleys,  worn 
out  by  the  water  in  its  effort  to  get  out  of  the  way 
of  public  travel,  ran  up  and  down  and  across  the 
streets,  like  the  wrinkles  on  the  face  of  an  old  man. 
There  was  a  most  feeble  apology  for  a  plank  walk 
that  ran  along  the  side  of  the  street  with  about  the 
spirit  of  a  dog  that  had  been  caught  stealing  meat. 
In  many  places  the  earth  beneath  the  walk  had  been 
washed  away  so  completely  that  the  foot  passengers 
were  in  great  danger  of  falling  through.     The  houses 


142  ANDERSON VILLE  VIOLETS 

were  low,  and  most  of  tliem  unpainted  and  dismal- 
looking.  The  yards  seemed  slack  and  disorderly. 
The  fences  were  old  and  unpainted  or  built  of 
barbed  wire  that  seemed  to  reach  out  with  its  hun- 
gry teeth  to  cut  into  the  clothing  of  the  passer-by. 

There  was  not  a  single  white  woman  to  be  seen. 
A  few  men  were  in  sight ;  most  of  them  were  sitting 
in  the  shade  ;  many  were  asleep.  Negroes  were 
working  listlessly  in  some  of  the  yards.  They  all 
stopped  their  work  to  look  at  the  new-comers,  and 
many  of  them  touched  their  hats  with  "Howdy, 
boss?"  John,  with  New  England  friendliness, 
bowed  to  them  all,  which  act  of  recognition  caused 
the  white  men  to  look  at  him  in  wonder.  What 
manner  of  man  could  this  be,  they  thought,  who 
would  thus  publicly  recognize  all  the  ''niggers" 
he  met. 

The  little  darky  who  served  as  guide  halted  at 
last  before  a  gate,  and  led  the  way  through  it  up  a 
long  avenue  of  trees  to  a  large  white  house.  It  was 
a  massive  structure,  with  a  wide  piazza  in  front. 
Years  before,  it  had  been  the  home  of  some  proud 
Southern  planter,  but  the  fortunes  of  war  had  sadly 
changed  it. 

The  rag-bag  placed  the  satchel  on  the  floor  and 
went  in  search  of  some  responsible  person.  John 
and  Nellie  sat  on  the  broad  piazza  and  looked  about 
them  with  curious  eyes.  It  is  easy  to  pick  out  faults 
where  one  has  been  taught  for  years  to  believe  they 
exist.  Everything  seemed  strange  because  it  was 
new.  They  could  not  imagine  at  first  how  people 
could  become   used  to  such  an  arrangement.     The 


A   SOUTHERN   TOWN  143 

high,  airy  rooms  pleased  Nellie  exceedingly,  and  the 
little  cook-house  at  the  rear  seemed  to  her  a  great 
improvement  upon  the  hot  kitchen  at  home.  John 
noticed  how  far  the  well  was  from  the  house  — 
almost  a  day's  journey,  as  he  afterwards  stated — ■ 
and  how  carelessly  the  wood-pile  was  arranged.  He 
would  have  had  every  stick  of  that  wood  in  under  a 
shed.  Everything  about  the  house  seemed  to  him 
slack  and  unbusinesslike.  He  was  yet  to  learn  by 
sad  experience  that  cheap  labor  was  expected  to 
make  up  for  lack  of  conveniences.  As  they  sat 
looking  about  them,  a  living  poultry  market  in  the 
shape  of  an  old  negro  came  up  from  the  gate.  He 
carried  about  twenty  chickens  tied  about  him  by  the 
legs.  They  were  all  over  him,  peeping  out  from 
under  his  arms,  over  his  shoulders,  and  between  the 
folds  of  his  ragged  coat.  The  old  fellow  hobbled  up 
to  the  cook-house  and  began  an  animated  discussion 
with  the  cook  about  the  sale  of  a  portion  of  his  bur- 
den. The  cook,  after  a  long  argument,  bought  sev- 
eral of  the  largest,  and,  there  being  no  place  in  which 
to  secure  them,  and  evidently  not  wishing  to  spend 
his  time  and  energy  in  chasing  them  about,  he  cut 
off  their  heads  at  once,  much  to  the  wonder  of  John, 
who  was  watching  carefully.  John  wondered  what 
the  landlord  could  be  thinking  of  to  permit  such  a 
shiftless  proceeding. 

At  last  the  mistress  of  the  house  appeared.  A 
tall,  dignified  woman,  with  gray  hair  and  a  face  that 
showed  deep  lines  of  suffering.  The  war  had  cut 
the  lines  into  her  face  as  plainly  as  it  had  cut  the 
scars  on  the  face  of  the  country.     She  brought  out 


144  ANDERSON  VILLE   VIOLETS 

a  book,  in  which  Nellie,  who  did  the  most  of  John's 
writing,  registered.  The  old  lady  glanced  at  the 
names  with  a  slight  shrug  of  her  slioulders. 

''  You  are  from  the  North,  I  see,"  she  said, 
quietly. 

"  Yes,  mar'm,"  answered  John.  "  We  come  from 
the  State  o'  Maine." 

"  Ah,  indeed  ?  "  She  spoke  in  a  tone  that  gave 
John  to  understand  that  he  might  just  as  well  have 
come  from  Germany,  so  far  as  his  former  residence 
concerned  her.  The  landlady  led  her  guests  into  a 
large  room  on  the  first  floor,  and  then  bowed  herself 
away.  It  was  not  long  before  the  bell  rang  for  din- 
ner, and  the  immigrants  walked  out  to  the  dining- 
place.  One  long  table  extended  the  full  length  of 
the  room.  A  swarm  of  flies  were  buzzing  about  the 
room.  There  were  no  screen  doors  or  windows. 
Near  the  head  of  the  table  stood  the  little  negro  who 
had  brought  the  satchel  from  the  station.  He  held 
his  clothes  together  with  one  hand  while  the  other 
pulled  at  a  string  which  kept  in  motion  a  series  of 
paper  frames,  swinging  over  the  table.  The  wind 
caused  by  this  motion  served  to  keep  away  most  of 
the  flies.  A  massive  negro  woman  stood  at  a  side 
table  where  the  soup  was  to  be  served.  She  was 
barefooted  and  unkempt.  The  cook  stood  at  the 
door  of  the  cook-house,  ready  to  pass  in  the  dinner 
whenever  it  should  be  needed. 

The  grave  politeness  of  the  company  at  dinner 
rather  disconcerted  honest  John.  He  had  been  used 
to  the  free-and-easy  New  England  society,  where  one 
is  perfectly  free   to  try  and  find  out  his  neighbor's 


A  SOUTHERN  TOWN  145 

business ;  where  the  strange  thing  about  a  new- 
comer would  be  his  failure  to  ask  questions.  The 
grave  courtesy  of  the  men  he  met  at  dinner,  and  the 
cool  way  in  which  they  evaded  all  his  questions,  was 
something  entirely  new  to  him.  No  one  seemed  to 
be  able  to  tell  him  anything  about  the  soil  or  the 
crops.     He  made  but  a  poor  meal. 

Another  thing  that  seemed  strange  to  him  was  the 
fact  that  he  was  the  only  man  in  the  company  with- 
out a  title  of  some  kind.  The  rest  were  all  captains, 
or  doctors,  or  professors,  and  one  tall  man  with  a 
very  red  nose  rose  as  high  as  "  General."  John  was 
the  only  plain  Mister,  until  the  landlady,  wishing 
doubtless  to  maintain  the  reputation  of  her  table, 
addressed  him  as  "  Judge."  He  was  known  as 
Judge  Rockwell  thereafter,  much  to  the  amusement 
of  Nellie,  and  the  great  embarrassment  of  John  him- 
self. Nellie  hardly  knew  what  to  say  to  the  ladies 
she  met  at  dinner.  She  was  almost  as  nervous  as 
John,  and  could  not  seem  to  start  a  conversation. 
She  had  no  common  feeling  with  these  people  who 
seemed  to  look  at  her  so  sneeringly  when  she  asked 
some  questions  in  regard  to  the  preparation  of  the 
meal.  She  did  not  know  that  these  ladies  knew 
almost  nothing  about  cooking,  and  probably  cared 
still  less.  All  these  points  were  to  be  learned  in 
time. 

There  was  only  one  thing  that  happened  to  make 
John  and  Nellie  feel  better.  One  old  gentleman 
smiled  at  little  Nellie,  and  came  over  to  pat  her  on 
the  head  as  he  went  out.  The  little  girl's  mother 
smiled  so   sweetly   that   he    bowed    as    he    passed 


146  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

her.  John  wanted  to  get  up  and  shake  hands  with 
him. 

Little  Nellie  was  very  tired,  and  soon  after  dinner 
she  fell  asleep.  John  sat  and  watched  his  wife  as 
she  soothed  the  child.  The  little  woman's  lip  was 
trembling  in  spite  of  the  song  she  tried  to  sing  to 
the  baby.  John  knew  she  was  thinking  of  home. 
He  carried  little  Nellie  to  the  bed  and  laid  her 
tenderly  there  ;  then  he  came  back  to  his  wife.  She 
sat  in  a  low  rocking-chair  by  the  window.  He  knelt 
on  the  floor  at  her  side  and  put  his  head  in  her  lap. 
She  brushed  his  hair  back  from  his  forehead,  and 
then,  with  both  her  hands,  turned  his  face  so  that 
slie  could  look  straight  into  his  eyes. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about  now,  John  ?  "  she 
asked. 

Her  lip  had  stopped  its  trembling,  and  she  smiled 
down  at  him,  though  John  knew  that  her  heart  was 
wrenched  with  homesickness. 

"  My  dear  little  girl,"  he  broke  out,  "  I  know  it  is 
hard  for  you,  but  it  won't  be  so  hard  when  we  have 
a  home  of  our  own." 

The  brave  little  woman  tried  hard  to  smile,  but 
her  lip  quivered  strongly,  and  before  she  could  stop 
them,  the  tears  came  down  over  her  cheeks.  She 
had  meant  to  comfort  John  and  have  her  cry  all  to 
herself,  but  she  was  too  tired,  and  tlie  tears  tvould 
force  themselves  out,  and  she  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands  and  sobbed  like  a  little  child.  And  good, 
brave  John,  though  his  own  eyes  were  wet,  soothed 
his  wife,  and  whispered  comforting  words  to  her  till 
she  stopped  crying. 


A   SOUTHERN   TOWN  147 

"  I  am  so  tired,  John,"  she  said,  wearily. 

"  I  know  it,  my  dear  little  girl,  and  I  want  you  to 
sleep  now.  I  am  going  down  town  to  find  out  some- 
thing about  the  place,  and  while  I  am  gone  you 
must  take  a  nap." 

John  kissed  her,  and  went  out.  He  sat  on  the 
piazza  for  a  while,  and  then  softly  opened  the  door 
of  the  room  and  looked  in.  Nellie  had  fallen  asleep. 
She  lay  with  her  arm  thrown  over  the  baby.  John 
closed  the  door,  and  walked  down  the  path  to  the 
street.  As  he  passed  through  the  gate,  he  met  the 
old  gentleman  who  had  noticed  the  little  girl  at  din- 
ner. This  new  friend  bowed  and  held  out  his  hand, 
which  John  shook  heartily. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  judge."  The  old  gentleman 
spoke  with  an  emphasis  on  the  new  title,  that  showed 
that  he  fully  understood  how  John  regarded  it.  "  I 
am  glad  to  see  you  —  my  name  is  Lawrence,  and  if  I 
can  be  of  any  service  to  you  I  shall  be  very  glad. 
You  are  a  stranger  here,  and,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
a  Northern  man." 

John  shook  the  old  gentleman's  hand  again. 
"  Yes,  I'm  a  Yankee,  I  s'pose,"  he  said  simply.  "  I 
come  from  the  State  o'  Maine." 

He  had  determined  to  say  as  little  as  possible 
about  his  State  or  his  former  home,  being  convinced, 
as  most  Northern  people  are,  before  they  come  to  the 
South,  that  the  mere  mention  of  his  former  residence 
would  be  used  as  an  argument  against  him. 

"Ah,  indeed?"  replied  Mr.  Lawrence — by  this 
time  they  were  walking  together  down  the  street  — 
"  I  had  some  relatives  in  New  Hampshire  years  ago,  in 


148  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

fact,  T  came  from  that  State,  but  it  was  so  long  ago 
that  I  expect  they  are  dead  long  since.  It  is  very 
hard,  however,  for  one  to  forget  those  old  hills." 

John  would  not  have  been  a  Yankee  if  he  had  not 
tried  to  cross-question  his  new  friend. 

"  You've  been  here  a  good  while,  I  s'pose." 

"  A  great  many  years.  I  have  seen  many  changes, 
and  many  stirring  times.  You  have  come  here  at  a 
very  trying  time,  and  you  will  find  it  necessary  to 
do  many  things  that  you  would  not  think  of  doing 
at  the  North." 

"What  sort  of  a  country  is  it?  "  John  asked  the 
question  a  little  hesitatingly. 

"It  is  a  country  of  magnificent  possibilities  — 
that  is  the  best  I  can  say.  You  will  see  what  I 
mean  when  you  are  fairly  at  work.  The  strength  of 
this  land  lies  in  the  future  —  it  will  be  strength  or 
weakness,  just  as  the  present  generation  shall  decide. 
There  is  no  place  in  the  land  where  the  immigrant 
will  find  it  so  hard  to  become  contented,  yet  there 
is  no  place  where  strong-hearted  men  and  women 
can  do  so  much  for  themselves  and  for  their  country 
as  they  can  here.  By  the  way,  you  were  a  soldier,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

''  Of  course  I  was,"  said  John,  stoutly.  This  was 
one  of  the  questions  that  he  felt  unable  to  dodge. 
The  old  gentleman  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"  You  think  the  negroes  are  the  equals  of  our 
white  people,  I  suppose,  that  is,  you  think  the  gov- 
ernment did  right  in  giving  them  equal  rights  with 
white  people?  " 

"  Of  course,"  answered  John ;  "  wasn't  that  what 
we  fought  the  war  for  ?  " 


A  SOUTHERN   TOWN  149 

His  companion  smiled  sadly  and  shook  his  head. 

"Let  me  give  you  a  word  of  advice,  my  friend. 
Never  give  one  of  our  Southern  negroes  to  under- 
stand that  you  consider  him  as  an  equal.  At  home 
you  would  doubtless  invite  a  negro  to  your  table. 
Never  think  of  doing  it  here,  if  you  want  to  enjoy 
any  of  the  privileges  of  society  or  business.  You 
have  come  among  a  very  proud  and  impulsive  peo- 
ple. They  have  strong  beliefs  —  stronger  than  your 
own  in  fact.  They  know  the  negroes  are  incapable 
of  governing  people  who  are  superior  in  intelligence. 
You  will  see  that  this  is  true  before  long,  and  I  must 
advise  you  as  a  friend  to  be  guarded  in  your  remarks. 
Nothing  is  to  be  gained  by  talking  too  much,  and 
everything  may  be  lost.  I  am  an  old  man  and  I  have 
studied  this  question  carefully." 

John  felt  that  this  was  all  true.  It  was  about  what 
Uncle  Nathan  had  meant  when  he  said  :  —  "  'Twon't 
do  ye  no  good  ter  spread  yer  idees  round  there  too 
thick.  People  ain't  gonter  change  their  notions  in 
a  minnit.  If  they  ask  you  where  ye  come  frum, 
jest  tell  'em  and  don't  stop  ter  make  no  argyments 
ner  excuses.  They'll  think  a  great  site  more  of  ye 
if  ye  mind  yer  own  biz'ness.  You  jest  stick  ter 
work,  an'  let  them  run  their  own  wagin." 

"  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  keep  my  mouth  shut 
and  mind  my  own  affairs,"  John  said,  as  they  walked 
on  toward  the  business  part  of  the  town.  In  a  few 
moments  they  stood  in  front  of  the  court-house, 
where  they  could  command  a  good  view  of  the  main 
street. 

It  was  a  dreary  sight  to  John,  accustomed  as  he 


150  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

was  to  the  stir  and  bustle  of  New  England.  A 
group  of  men  sat  in  front  of  every  store.  They 
were  staring  vacantly  into  the  street,  or  talking  in  a 
listless  manner,  each  word  being  obliged  to  fight  its 
way  out  through  their  jaws.  Before  several  of  the 
larger  groups  a  few  sidewalk  orators  were  holding 
forth  in  thrilling  style.  The  stores  seemed  to  be 
kept  for  the  most  part  by  Jews.  They  stood  in  the 
doorways  with  that  peculiar  smile  and  hand  motion 
for  which  the  Jews  are  famous  the  world  over.  A 
line  of  sad-looking  mules,  some  saddled  and  others 
attached  to  wagons,  stood  along  the  street.  They 
hung  their  heads  down  as  if  trying  to  appear  as  lazy 
and  spiritless  as  their  masters.  Surely  a  man  is 
known  by  his  mule  or  dog.  Near  a  small  tree  that 
was  making  a  brave  struggle  for  existence  on  a  high 
clay  bank,  John  saw  a  horse  standing  in  a  crowd  of 
mules.  The  degraded  animal  seemed  heartily  ashamed 
of  himself  at  thus  being  forced  to  associate  with 
mules.  If  he  had  straightened  up  proudly  or  even 
pranced  a  little,  he  would  have  appeared  finely  in 
the  crowd  of  lazy  creatures  about  him. 

A  yoke  of  bony  oxen  had  hauled  a  heavy  wagon 
up  near  the  village  well.  One  of  the  animals  lay 
contentedly  upon  the  ground,  while  the  other  stood 
patiently  holding  the  whole  weight  of  the  yoke. 
The  driver,  a  long,  lean,  yellow-faced  man,  with  hair, 
face,  and  clothes  all  of  the  same  color,  stood  leaning 
against  the  wagon,  holding  a  long  whip  which  he 
cracked  at  intervals  in  the  direction  of  a  group  of 
negroes.  The  stores  were  low  and  discolored.  One 
felt  that  trade  must  be  cramped  and  dwarfed  before 


A   SOUTHERN   TOWN  151 

it  could  enter  them.  The  sidewalks  were  broken 
and  dirty.  There  was  little  paint  to  be  seen.  What 
little  there  w^as  seemed  creeping  into  the  dirt  for 
protection.  A  few  white  men  were  at  work,  but 
most  of  them  sat  in  the  comfortable  chairs  and  gazed 
at  the  street.  The  negroes  supplied  most  of  the  life 
in  the  picture.  It  was  Saturday,  and  they  had 
gathered  from  all  sides  for  a  general  holiday.  In  all 
stages  of  costume,  from  a  few  rags  held  together  by 
a  strap,  to  a  gorgeous  combination  introducing  all 
the  colors  of  the  rainbow,  they  stood  or  walked 
about  talking  and  laughing  as  though  the  chief  end 
of  life  consisted  in  manufacturing  all  the  fun  possi- 
ble. In  one  corner  a  crowd  had  gathered  about  a 
ragged  musician  who  discoursed  sweet  music  from  a 
mouth-organ.  The  crowd  stood  about  in  open- 
mouthed  attention,  often  beating  time  with  their 
hands  or  feet  as  he  played.  The  driver  of  the  ox 
team  listened  until  "  Rally  Round  the  Flag  "  roused 
him  to  action.  That  melody  evidently  brought  the 
old  times  back  to  him.  To  drive  them  back  into  the 
past,  he  cracked  his  long  whip  over  the  crowd,  in 
such  close  proximity  to  the  player's  head,  that  the 
tune  came  to  a  very  abrupt  termination.  The  com- 
pany broke  up  with  mutterings  and  head-shaking. 
The  ox-driver  drew  in  his  long  lash  and  placed  him- 
self in  readiness  for  another  shot. 

In  a  vacant  lot  near  the  street  a  negro  orator  was 
selling  various  bottles  of  a  "Kunger"  medicine  of 
his  own  manufacture.  He  was  dressed  in  a  bright 
uniform  of  red  and  yellow.  He  wore  a  tall  white 
hat  from  which  floated  several  black  feathers.     He 


152  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

was  addressing  a  crowd  of  open-mouthed  negroes, 
and  eloquently  stating  a  series  of  tlie  most  remarka- 
ble physiological  facts  that  ever  came  to  the  light. 

Several  refreshment  stands  were  placed  along  the 
street  for  the  benefit  of  the  darkies.  There  was 
nothing  princely  about  these  establishments.  An 
upturned  dry-goods  box  or  a  board  laid  across  two 
barrels  served  for  a  counter.  A  basket  of  small 
cakes,  a  great,  shapeless  piece  of  pork,  and  a  pile 
of  biscuits  formed  the  stock  in  trade.  An  old  crone 
with  gray  hair  and  a  face  twisted  into  a  mass  of 
wrinkles  presided  over  the  stand  near  where  John 
stood.  She  was  smoking  a  long  pipe  directly  over 
the  great  piece  of  boiled  pork.  A  big  negro  ap- 
proached and  laid  a  dime  on  the  board.  The  old 
woman  cut  a  large  block  of  meat  from  the  mass  and 
laid  it  upon  one  of  the  little  cakes.  This,  with  one 
of  the  biscuits,  formed  the  ration.  The  negro  grasped 
his  food  eagerly  and  crouched  on  the  edge  of  the 
sidewalk  to  devour  it.  A  rival  establishment  near 
by  was  doing  a  fine  business  in  fried  sausage.  A 
small  oil-stove  supplied  the  heat,  and  a  battered  tin 
pan  held  the  food.  It  was  cooked  in  great  balls  in  a 
rusty  frying-pan,  and  turned  about  with  a  jack-knife. 
The  purchasers  received  the  meat  directly  into  their 
hands. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

COLONEL  FAIR 

As  John  stood  watching  the  negroes,  Mr.  Law- 
rence touched  his  arm,  and  at  the  same  time  beck- 
oned to  a  tall  man  who  had  just  left  one  of  the 
groups  of  white  men. 

"My  friend.  Colonel  Fair — Judge  Rockwell,"  he 
introduced,  as  the  tall  man  came  near.  "Colonel 
Fair  is  a  Northern  man  ;  he  lives  near  your  place 
and  can  doubtless  give  you  some  information  con- 
cerning it.  Now  I  must  bid  you  good  evening,  for 
I  am  obliged  to  go.  I  leave  you  in  good  hands.  I 
shall  be  glad  to  see  you  again,"  —  and  with  a  shake 
of  the  hand  and  a  stately  bow  Mr.  Lawrence  walked 
down  the  street  to  the  place  where  his  horse  had 
been  tied. 

"Nice  ole  man,"  said  Colonel  Fair,  abruptly. 
"  Doc.  Lawrence  is  a  nice  ole  man,  but  he  ain't 
got  much  sense." 

John  looked  curiously  at  the  man  who  spoke  his 
ideas  with  so  little  reserve.  A  tall,  thin  man,  with 
long,  bony  hands.  The  skin  on  his  face  seemed  to 
be  drawn  so  tight  that  it  pushed  his  eyes  into  undue 
prominence.  He  wore  a  thin,  short  beard,  and  his 
hair  was  just  in  the  struggle  of  turning  from  gray  to 
white.  His  mouth  was  strong  and  firm.  He  was  a 
trifle  round-shouldered,  and  carried  his  head  a  little 

153 


154  ANDERSON YILLE   VIOLETS 

in  advance  of  liis  bod3\     He  looked  keenly  at  John, 
and  held  out  his  hand  in  a  sharp,  businesslike  way. 

^'Glad  to  see  3^ou,  judge,"  he  said.  "You're  gon- 
ter  take  the  old  Bell  place,  I  reckon.  I'm  glad  you 
be  — you'll  be  neighbors  to  me." 

"Yes,  an'  I'm  gonter  move  right  out,"  said  John, 
"but,  look  here  —  I  ain't  no  judge  at  all.  They  give 
me  the  name  up  to  the  tavern,  but  I  dun  no  how 
they  come  by  it." 

"That's  all  right,"  the  new  friend  laughed. 
"You'll  git  used  to  that  after  a  while.  Every- 
body here  has  to  be  somethin',  when,  right  down 
to  business,  they  ain't  nothin'.  Somethin'  like  the 
two  fellers  up  here  to  Memphis." 

Colonel  Fair  cleared  his  throat  and  coaxed  his 
face  into  the  self-satisfied  expression  that  comes  to 
announce  a  good  story. 

"A  couple  of  these  fellers  —  lawyers  they  was  — 
went  up  there  to  tend  court.  They  got  to  talkin', 
an'  at  last  one  of  'em  says,  '  By  the  way,  I've  been 
told  that  I  look  jest  like  the  poet  Byron  —  do  you 
reckon  there's  any  truth  in  that  story?'  The  other 
feller  looked  at  him  sorter  sharp,  an'  then  says,  *  I 
reckon  so — you  do  look  jest  like  him,  I  reckon.' 
The  talk  went  on  till  after  a  while  the  second  feller 
says  —  '  By  the  way,  a  heap  of  my  friends  say  that  I 
remind  them  of  Thomas  Jefferson  —  what  do  yc»u 
reckon  about  that?'  The  first  feller  looked  at  him 
pretty  sharp,  and  then  says,  '  Well,  sar,  I  can't  see 
no  resemblance  at  all.'  The  second  feller  he  drawed 
off  an'  said  —  'No,  sar,  and  you  don't  look  no  more 
like  Byron  than  my  old  mule  does.'" 


COLONEL   FAIR  155 

John  laughed  heartily  at  this  story,  and  Colonel 
Fair  went  on  to  apply  it. 

"Now  look  at  them  men  settin'  in  front  of  that 
store,"  —  and  he  pointed  to  the  nearest  group. 
*' There's  a  cap'n,  two  majors,  a  doctor,  and  two 
colonels,  an'  I'll  bet  there  ain't  two  of  'em  that's  got 
any  real  hold  on  his  title.  They  just  set  there  and 
carry  out  the  play.  Them  fellers  jest  set  there  all 
day  long  an'  tell  how  many  slaves  their  fathers  used 
to  have,  an'  cuss  this  free-nigger  labor.  While  they 
are  wearin'  the  paint  away  from  them  chairs,  the 
niggers  are  wearin'  out  their  arms  for  'em." 

John  was  a  little  surprised  at  this  plain  talk. 
This  man  was  evidently  not  in  the  least  afraid  of 
being  shot. 

"What  sort  of  a  country  zs  this  any  way ?"  He 
asked  the  question  to  draw  out  his  new  friend. 
Somehow  he  liked  these  blunt  sentences. 

"  The  country's  all  right  if  the  people  only  had 
some  git  up  to  'em.  They  jest  lay  right  back  and 
make  the  niggers  do  all  the  work.  How  many  white 
men  do  you  see  a-workin'  on  this  street?  You  go 
through  the  countr}^  an'  you'll  find  it  jest  so  all 
along.  When  a  man  comes  down  here  ready  to  dip 
in  an'  work,  he'll  do  fine.  This  country  won't  be 
much  till  these  boys  grow  up.  I  tell  'em  that  all 
these  old  fellers  have  got  to  die  off  before  the  coun- 
try kin  come  up.  These  old  chaps  live  'way  back 
yonder.     They  fight  every  new  idee." 

Colonel  Fair  talked  rapidly  and  earnestly,  pointing 
down  the  street  as  he  talked.  John  listened  in  sur- 
prise.    He  hardly  expected  to  find  a  man  talking 


156  ANDERSONYILLE   VIOLETS 

this  way  right  in  the  very  heart  of  the  Svouth.     He 
indicated  his  surprise  at  tins  very  plain  talk. 

"  I  ain't  a  bit  afraid  of  'em,"  said  Colonel  Fair, 
"  and  they  know  it.  I've  been  here  a  good  while 
and  they  know  who  I  be.  They  know  I  don't  know 
how  to  run  worth  a  cent.  I'm  a  Democrat  —  always 
have  been.  Down  in  this  country  you've  got  to  be 
either  a  Democrat  or  a  nigger.  You  ain't  got  no 
idee  yet  what  a  nigger  is.  Wait  till  you  have  'em 
to  work  for  ye  an'  all  around  ye.  That's  the  kind 
of  men  that  runs  this  country  "  —  and  he  pointed  to 
a  group  of  men  gathered  in  front  of  one  of  the 
stores. 

''They  set  there  all  day  an'  do  nothin'  but  talk 
politics,  an'  yet  there  ain't  one  of  'em  that  can  tell 
ye  what  Protection  means.  I'll  bet  ten  dollars  I  can 
go  up  to  that  crowd  an'  ask  'em  what  the  news  is, 
an'  every  man  will  say  '  not  a  word  to-day  '  —  come 
an'  try  it."     And  he  drew  John  along  with  him. 

They  reached  the  group  after  a  short  walk.  Col- 
onel Fair  introduced  John  as  Judge  Rockwell.  He 
shook  hands  with  some  of  the  men,  and  with  a  sly 
twinkle  in  his  eye  asked,  ''Well,  gentlemen,  what's 
the  news?"  The»men  looked  sadly  at  one  another 
and  mournfully  replied,  "Not  a  word — you  got 
any?" 

The  men  regarded  John  in  sullen  silence.  At 
last  a  good-natured-looking  fat  man,  who  appeared 
to  be  the  proprietor  of  the  store,  seemed  to  realize 
that  John  was  in  an  awkward  position.  He  kindly 
came  to  the  rescue. 

"I  reckon  you'll  like  this  country,  sar,"  he  said, 


COLONEL  FAIR  157 

as  he  pushed  his  hat  up  from  his  face.  *'  Good  coun- 
try, I  reckon.  Mighty  easy  fo'  a  man  to  make  a 
livin'  down  yer.     Right  smart  of  chances,  I  reckon." 

"  That's  jest  what  ails  the  countrj^"  broke  in  Col- 
onel Fair.  "It's  too  powerful  easy  to  make  a  livin' 
here.  If  you  fellers  had  to  scratch  a  little  harder 
you'd  be  better  off.  But  it's  just  as  I  tell  ye  — 
you've  all  got  to  die  before  this  country  can  come 
up  any.  You  all  know  it,  an'  there  ain't  no  use  try- 
in'  to  dodge  it." 

John  was  surprised  at  the  way  the  crowd  took 
this  verbal  attack.  He  fully  expected  to  see  them 
start  up  and  attack  the  blunt  speaker.  Not  a  word 
was  said,  however.  The  men  all  glanced  sullenly  at 
each  other,  but  made  no  audible  reply.  After  a  few 
ordinary  remarks  John  and  Colonel  Fair  walked  on 
down  the  street.  As  they  passed  away  John  caught 
a  glimpse  at  the  downcast  faces  of  several  of  the 
white  men.  They  must  have  hated  his  companion 
intensely.  Colonel  Fair  noticed  his  surprised 
look. 

"I  reckon  they  hate  me,"  he  said,  ''but  it  don't 
make  no  odds.  I've  got  a  good  place,  out  of  debt, 
an'  money  ahead.  I  don't  owe  'em  nothin',  an'  a 
heap  of  'em  do  owe  me.  They  can't  run  me  out,  an' 
they've  jest  got  to  stand  up  an'  hark  at  what  I  tell 
'em.  You're  a  stranger  here,  an'  don't  know  what's 
goin'  on.  You'll  find  out  quick  enough,  an'  I'll  be 
glad  to  help  ye  all  I  kin." 

They  stopped  at  the  bank,  where  John  was  intro- 
duced to  several  other  Northern  men.  They  were 
all  quiet,  determined,  marked  men,  who  looked  him 


158  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

straight  in  the  eye.  They  all  seemed  glad  to  see 
him,  and  were  ready  to  give  advice  and  information. 
John  easily  obtained  the  needed  knowledge  in  re- 
gard to  his  place.  It  was  close  to  Colonel  Fair's 
phmtation.  That  gentleman  invited  John  to  stay  at 
his  house  until  the  place  could  be  cleared  up. 

"I  reckon  it's  nothin'  but  a  nest  o'  niggers  now," 
was  Colonel  Fair's  opinion. 

John  gladly  accepted  the  invitation.  He  prom- 
ised to  come  out  on  Monday  for  the  purpose  of  look- 
ing over  the  place.  He  shook  hands  with  his  new 
friends  at  last  and  started  back  to  the  hotel.  He 
bcGfan  to  fear  that  Nellie  miorht  need  him.  As  he 
passed  by  the  store  where  they  had  spoken  with  the 
group  of  loungers,  the  fat  proprietor  smiled  with  so 
much  good-nature  that  John  stopped,  Yankee-like, 
for  a  talk.  The  crowd  of  lazy  men  had  departed  in 
search  of  more  comfortable  seats,  and  the  fat  man 
was  able  to  reserve  the  best  chair  for  his  own  use, 
and  give  John  the  choice  of  all  the  rest.  John  sat 
down  beside  his  portly  friend  and  glanced  curiously 
up  and  down  the  street. 

"  I  reckon  we  have  a  heap  mo'  niggers  than  you 
all  does,"  said  the  fat  man,  as  he  saw  John's  look  of 
curiosity. 

"  I  guess  you  do,"  said  John  cautiously.  "  We 
don't  liave  only  here  and  there  one." 

"  I  don't  reckon  you  knows  what  the  nigger  is. 
Down  yer  whar  we  have  'em  all  around  us,  we  un- 
derstand 'era.  You  all  has  ter  come  whar  they  is 
befo'  you  kin  know  much  about  'em.  The  nigger  "  — 
here  he  waved  one  lazy  hand  in  front  of  him  —  "  ain't 


COLONEL  FAIR  159 

never  a-goiii'  to  be  nothin',  an'  he  don't  know  how 
ter  learn.  He's  sorter  like  a  pinter  dog.  He  can 
read  an'  write,  but  the  mo'  lie  learns,  the  mo'  devil 
he  gits  inter  him.  You'll  see  jest  how  it  is  befo' 
you've  ben  yer  a  year.  You  give  the  nigger  his 
schoolin'  an'  ye  spoil  him  to  wonct.  He  wants  ter 
go  right  ter  teachin'  or  preachin'.  He  don't  know 
nothin'  an'  he  never  will.  There  they  be  to-day.  I 
don't  reckon  there's  a  dozen  in  this  town  that  knows 
what  tliey  come  in  fer.  They  spend  their  time  an' 
money  on  some  little  trick  that  ain't  got  nothin'  to 
it,  an'  there  they  be." 

At  this  moment  two  negroes  came  up  to  the  store 
to  make  a  purchase.  The  fat  merchant  was  obliged 
to  close  his  argument  while  he  attended  to  the  wants 
of  his  customers.  During  his  absence  John  walked 
away.  He  had  listened  to  some  curious  views 
surely.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  men  lie  met  eyed  him 
suspiciously  —  all  but  the  Jews  —  they  smiled,  and 
invited  him  to  walk  in.  The  negroes  all  bowed  or 
touched  their  hats.  John  returned  all  these  saluta- 
tions, much  to  the  scorn  of  the  white  men  who 
watched  him.  He  reached  the  hotel  to  find  Nellie 
and  the  little  girl  sitting  on  the  piazza.  Sleep  had 
driven  all  the  homesickness  away,  for  the  time,  and 
they  were  eagerly  watching  the  curious  things  about 
them.  John  brought  out  a  chair,  and,  taking  the 
little  girl  on  his  knee,  told  them  all  about  his  adven- 
tures in  the  town.  Nellie  was  anxious  to  move  out 
to  the  plantation  at  once,  and  John  decided  to  go 
out  on  Monday  to  look  the  house  over.  As  they  sat 
talking,  a  man  came  out  of  one  of  the  rooms  that 


160  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

opened  into  the  hall.  He  looked  cautiously  about, 
as  if  to  see  that  no  one  was  watching  him,  and  then 
walked  up  to  John  with  his  hand  held  out,  as  he  in- 
troduced himself. 

"My  name's  Battle — I  live  up  in  Ohio  —  don't 
make  no  odds  jest  where  —  I  come  from  York  State 
when  I  was  a  boy,  an'  I'll  be  dogged  if  I  ain't  glad 
to  see  a  Northern  man  —  only  'twon't  do  ye  no  good 
to  say  I  told  ye  so,"  he  added,  as  he  glanced  behind 
him.  "  Of  course  I  ain't  no  special  friend  of  these 
folks,  an'  I  ain't  got  no  notion  of  gittin'  'em  down 
on  me  —  but  jest  you  an'  me  a-talkin'  —  I'm  dogged 
if  I  ain't  glad  to  see  ye." 

John  shook  hands  with  the  cautious  stranger,  and 
introduced  Nellie.  Mr.  Battle  brought  a  cliair  from 
the  hall,  and  placed  it  so  near  John  that  he  could 
talk  without  the  least  risk  of  attracting  attention  to 
himself. 

He  was  a  short  man  w^ith  a  stoop  in  the  shoulders, 
and  a  head  almost  completely  bald.  A  slight  rim  of 
gray  hair  ran  just  above  his  ears  and  under  his  chin. 
It  seemed  as  if  his  bare  head  had  been  pushed  up 
through  a  woollen  bag,  and  that  the  edges  of  the  bag 
had  fallen  over.  He  had  a  large,  good-natured-look- 
ing mouth  and  nose.  His  eyes  were  small  and 
partly  hid  by  shaggy  eyebrows.  Mr.  Battle  held  out 
his  hands  to  little  Nellie  and  made  up  a  face  that  was 
intended  to  show  that  he  was  ready  to  play  with 
her.  After  a  little  urging  the  little  girl  left  her 
father  and  went  to  Mr.  Battle's  chair.  He  pulled 
out  his  watch  and  held  it  to  her  ear  a  moment,  and 
then  began  a  careful  examination  of  his  pocket  to  see 


COLONEL   FAIR  161 

if  the  piece  of  candy  was  still  there.  These  pleasant 
advances  captivated  the  little  girl,  and  she  climbed 
on  his  knee,  taking  care  to  show  John  and  her 
mother  that  this  was  only  a  temporary  arrange- 
ment. 

"  Jest  gut  in,  ain't  ye  ?  ''  said  Mr.  Battle,  when 
the  little  girl  had  settled  in  his  lap. 

"  Yes,  we  come  in  this  mornin'.  I  s'pose  you've 
ben  here  quite  a  spell,  ain't  ye  ?  "  John  answered 
cautiously. 

*'  Wal,  no,  I  ain't  been  here  no  great  sight  o'  time, 
after  all.  I  just  came  down  to  sorter  look  up  a 
little  property,  like.  My  wife's  mother,  ye  see,  has 
considerable  property,  like,  an'  sence  I  quit  farmin' 
I  ain't  done  much  but  sorter  run  round  an'  look 
after  it.  I've  been  sorter  lookin'  round  fer  a  spell, 
an'  I'm  jest  about  done  now  —  an',  jest  me  an'  you 
a-talkin',  I  won't  be  a  mite  sorry  when  I  get  outer 
this  country  agin." 

John  said  nothing,  but  let  the  old  gentleman  talk 
on  as  he  pleased. 

"  I've  alluz  heard  a  good  deal  about  this  country, 
an'  I'm  glad  I've  had  a  good  chance  to  sorter  look  it 
over.  A  feller  can't  tell  nothin'  about  what  the 
prospects  is  till  he  comes  and  sorter  sees  for  himself. 
Now  you  take  these  niggers  "  —  and  he  looked  care- 
fully about  to  see  that  he  was  alone  —  "  they  don't 
seem  ter  have  much  man  about  'em,  do  they?  I'll  be 
dogged  ef  they  don't  'pear  ter  be  a  sorter  shiftless 
set  like.  'Pears  ter  me,  ef  I  was  down  here  myself, 
I'd  hate  to  have  'em  a-runnin'  me.  Now  we've  gut 
niggers  up  where  I  live,  but  they  gut  some  man  to 


162  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

'em.  They  'pear  ter  be  right  up  onto  business,  right 
straight  along.  These  fellers  here  is  alliiz  leanin'  up 
agin  a  liouse.  I'll  be  dogged  if  ivliite  folks  'pear  ter 
have  niuch  more  life  in  'em.  Jest  look  at  the  side- 
walks they  gut  in  this  town.  I  jest  wanter  take  me 
a  hoe  and  go  ter  scrapin'  'em  off  myself.  I've  ben  out 
in  the  country,  an'  I'll  be  dogged  if  it  don't  beat  all 
how  they  farm  it.  Great  big  houses — all  entry  an' 
doors  —  no  tools,  an'  a  great  crowd  of  lazy  niggers, 
jest  eatin'  their  heads  off." 

At  this  moment  the  supper  bell  rang,  and  Mr. 
Battle  put  the  little  girl  down  and  beckoned  the 
others  to  follow  him  into  the  dining-room. 

"  I  guess  we'd  better  sorter  fill  up  our  places, 
hadn't  we  ? "  he  said  as  he  led  the  way  from  the 
piazza.  *' Don't  it  beat  all,  though,  what  the}^  give 
us  t'  eat  here  ?  Fm  dogged  ef  I  know  what  I'm  eatin' 
half  the  time,  but  I  jest  shet  my  eyes  an'  risk  it." 

He  was  not  entirely  satisfied  yet,  for  he  stopped 
John  in  the  middle  of  the  hall  to  whisper,  *'  Of 
course  I  don't  know  wlio  you  be  —  don't  make  no 
special  odds  what  my  politics  is,  you  understand  — 
that's  jest  me  an'  you  talkin'." 

The  supper  was  a  pleasanter  meal  to  John  and 
Nellie  than  the  dinner  had  been.  Mr.  Battle  was  a 
great  help.  He  talked  to  every  one  and  asked  ques- 
tion after  question.  The  boarders  seemed  to  regard 
him  with  a  pitying  scorn,  but  he  never  noticed  it. 

"What's  them?"  he  asked,  as  the  waiter  handed 
him  a  new  dish. 

"Grits,"  was  the  answer. 

"What  be  they  made  of?    I'm  sorter  new  here,  ye 


COLONEL  FAIR  163 

see,  an'  I  wanter  be  able  to  answer  all  questions 
when  I  git  home.  I  expect  I'll  be  in  the  wetness 
stand  for  quite  a  spell." 

The  supper  came  to  an  end  at  last,  and  John  and 
Nellie  went  to  their  own  room.  Here  they  were 
followed  by  Mr.  Battle. 

"  I  s'pose  you  folks  is  singers,  ain't  ye  ?  "  he  asked, 
after  a  short  conversation.  "  Because  if  ye  be,  there 
ain't  no  reason  why  we  can't  have  us  a  good  sing. 
I  sing  bass  myself  —  I  do.  There's  a  sort  of  an  organ 
^  like  into  my  room,  an'  pears  ter  me  we  might  sing  a 
tune  or  two  without  no  trouble." 

They  all  adjourned  to  Mr.  Battle's  room,  where 
the  ''  sort  of  an  organ  like  "  proved  to  be  an  old- 
fashioned  melodeon.  With  Nellie  at  this  instrument 
and  John  and  Mr.  Battle  to  sing,  they  began.  In  a 
short  time  one  after  another  of  the  boarders  dropped 
in,  and  quite  a  large  choir  was  formed.  This  little 
"sing"  did  them  all  good.  When  they  stopped  at 
last  and  John  and  Nellie  went  to  their  own  room, 
Mr.  Battle  seemed  to  feel  that  he  ought  to  say  a 
word  to  cheer  the  young  people.  Perhaps  he  feared 
that  his  own  dismal  view  of  Southern  society  might 
make  them  homesick. 

"I  s'pose  like  enough  you  may  feel  sorter  home- 
sick, Mis'  Rockwell.  Ye  mustn't  do  that,  't won't  do 
ye  no  good.  My  folks  to  home  is  sorter  alone,  I 
expect,  but  I  sorter  fixed  things  sos't  they'll  git 
along.  I  went  out  an'  gut  'em  a  ham,  there's  milk 
an'  bread  comes  right  to  the  door  an'  all  these  things. 
I  expect  they'll  git  along  fust-rate." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  MAN  AT   THE  DOOR 

Sunday  morning  found  our  friends  up  bright  and 
early.  Mr.  Battle  took  his  station  on  the  piazza 
within  sight  of  the  dining-room  door.  When  John 
appeared,  the  old  gentleman  at  once  picked  up  the 
discussion  of  the  night  before. 

"How's  all  the  folks  this  mornin'?"  he  asked,  as 
he  shook  John's  hand.  "Beats  all  how  holler  a 
feller  gits  in  this  climate,  don't  it?"  he  added  as  he 
glanced  in  the  direction  of  the  cook-house.  "If  I 
was  runnin'  this  place  I'd  had  them  niggers  rousted 
out  long  afore  this.  It  beats  all  how  these  niggers 
lives,  don't  it  ?  "  Mr.  Battle  dropped  into  his  confi- 
dential tone  again.  "I  gut  me  a  boss  t'other  day 
an'  rode  out  inter  the  country  a  piece.  I  kinder 
thought  I'd  go  inter  one  of  these  cabins  jest  <ter  see 
how  they  looked.  They  told  me  it  was  jest  as  they 
have  it  in  winter.  Don't  never  fix  nothin'  up.  I 
could  take  me  a  pile  of  boards  an'  throw  'em  into  a 
better  house  than  them  folks  had,  easy.  Big  cracks 
under  the  door,  an'  holes  in  the  sides  big  enough  for 
me  to  shove  my  hand  through  anywhere.  There 
they  live,  jest  like  that.  I  could  see  jest  how  'tis. 
What's  your  idees  about  'em?  " 

John  was  getting  a  little  nettled  at  the  old  gentle- 
man's talk.     He  could  not  help  remembering  what 

164 


THE   MAN   AT   THE   DOOR  165 

Sol  had  done  for  him  years  before,  and  how  that 
despised  negro  cabin  had  seemed  like  home  to  him. 

"  My  idee  is,"  lie  said  stoutly,  ^'  that  the  darkies 
would  come  out  all  right  if  they  only  had  a  chance. 
They're  gonter  do  jest  what  the  white  folks  do.  If 
white  folks  shirk  an'  loaf  around,  ye  can't  blame  the 
darky  for  doin'  the  same  thing.  I  ain't  gonter  be 
ser  quick  ter  give  this  thing  up  till  I  see  some  of  'em 
have  a  fair  chance." 

This  was  a  long  speech  for  John  to  make,  but  he 
meant  every  word  of  it,  and  Mr.  Battle  made  haste 
to  put  himself  in  a  position  where  he  could  reach 
either  side  of  the  question. 

"Like  enough  that's  so  —  like  enough  they  ain't 
had  no  fair  chance.  You  train  'em  up  an'  give  'em 
a  chance  an'  they  might  do  fust-rate.  I  ain't  gut  no 
idea  that  I'm  a-gonter  stay  here  an'  try  it  myself, 
though." 

He  was  about  to  answer  Mr.  Battle  in  a  very 
forcible  manner,  when  Nellie  —  who  had  probably 
heard  part  of  the  conversation  —  came  from  her 
room.  When  she  came  John  forgot  all  about  the 
argument,  and  Mr.  Battle  entirely  forgave  the  late 
cook  as  he  played  with  little  Nellie.  He  got  a 
chance  at  John  again  as  they  went  into  breakfast. 

"I  dunno  who  you  be,  of  course,  but  I'll  be 
dogged  if  I  don't  like  ye.  If  you  ever  come  'round 
within  gunshot  of  me,  I  want  you  to  hunt  me  up." 

It  did  not  seem  like  a  Sunday  morning  breakfast 
to  John  and  Nellie.  There  were  no  baked  beans  on 
the  table.  It  is  a  fact  that  the  true  New  Englander 
sadjy  misses  this  toothsome  evidence  of  the  day  of 


166  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

rest.  The  bean  worshippers  are  sincere  in  tlieir 
religion  — how  sincere  they  themselves  do  not  know 
until  the}^  go  into  the  land  of  "hog  and  homin}-." 
After  breakfast  John  and  Nellie  walked  through  the 
town  and  out  to  a  hill  that  rose  just  behind  an  old 
church.  They  left  Mr.  Battle  discussing  religion 
with  one  of  the  boarders. 

The  streets  were  dull  and  deserted.  The  stores 
were  all  closed,  and,  save  a  small  group  in  front  of 
the  court-house,  there  were  no  white  men  to  be  seen. 
A  barber's  shop  was  open,  and  a  number  of  negroes 
lounged  about  in  the  sun.  Out  on  the  hill  they  sat 
under  a  large  tree  and  looked  down  upon  the  village. 
They  sat  there  and  talked  as  only  such  a  family  ever 
can  talk  —  words  of  sympath}^  of  strength,  and  of 
tenderness — till  the  bell  on  the  cliurch  below  them 
began  to  ring  out  the  first  call  to  worship.  The 
sound  of  the  bell  seemed  to  carry  their  thoughts 
back  to  the  gray  old  church  at  Breezetown.  They 
could  see  the  old  home  picture  as  they  sat  in  the 
sunshine  looking  down  over  the  dull  town. 

The  white-haired  sexton  was  pulling  slowly  and 
heavily  at  the  bell  rope.  The  rope  coiled  and 
twisted  about  his  feet  as  though  seeking  to  trip  him 
up.  The  church  stood  open,  and  the  bright  sun- 
shine was  working  its  way  up  over  the  battered 
pews  to  the  pulpit.  The  little  organ  was  opened. 
The  choir  had  been  practising.  It  would  take  a 
wonderful  amount  of  practising  to  fill  the  gap  caused 
by  the  loss  of  John  and  Nellie.  The  rough  farm 
wagons,  laden  with  worshippers,  were  crawling 
lazily  over  the  sandy  road.     The  flowers  in  the  min- 


THE   MAN   AT  THE   DOOR  167 

ister's  garden  were  nodding  brightly  in  the  sun. 
The  birds  were  singing  in  the  little  grove  back  of 
the  church.  There  would  be  a  vacant  space  in 
Uncle  Nathan's  pew  that  would  make  many  a  heart 
sad  and  add  a  tenderness  to  the  minister's  prayer. 
It  was  the  hardest  hour  in  the  lives  of  John  and 
Nellie  —  worse  than  the  parting  at  home.  They 
began  to  realize  at  last  how  far  they  had  gone  from 
the  old  life,  and  what  a  lonely,  heart-breaking  work 
it  would  be  to  grow  up  into  this  new  one.  But  they 
never  doubted  and  never  questioned.  They  looked 
at  the  little  girl  and  then  at  each  other,  and  were 
satisfied. 

The  bell  brought  them  to  their  feet,  and  they 
walked  slowly  back  to  the  hotel  to  prepare  for 
church.  The  very  thought  of  worship  seemed  to 
give  them  comfort.  Just  as  the  sound  of  the  bell 
carried  them  back,  in  thought,  to  the  old  home, 
with  all  its  cherished  associations,  so  the  very 
thought  of  going  to  church  seemed  to  strengthen 
them  and  drive  the  homesickness  away. 

They  were  indebted  to  Mr.  Battle  for  facts  con- 
cerning the  religious  condition  of  the  community. 
Mr.  Battle  had  spent  the  morning  in  drawing  out 
his  fellow-boarders.  He  had  obtained  much  valuable 
information,  which  he  made  haste  to  condense  for 
the  benefit  of  John  and  Nellie.  He  was  on  the 
watch  for  them,  and,  on  their  return,  he  followed 
them  into  their  room  and  carefully  shut  the  door. 

"Where  ye  goin'  to  church  this  mornin'?"  he 
asked.  "  It  would  be  a  good  thing  for  ye  to  go,  I 
s'pose.     Give  ye  a  good   chance  to  see  how  folks 


168  ANDERSON VILLE  VIOLETS 

looks,  an'  then  agin  it'll  show  folks  that  ye're  all 
ready  ter  chum  right  in  with  'em.  Guess  we'd  bet- 
ter go  'long,  hadn't  we  ?  " 

"  I'm  gonter  find  my  church,  an'  go  to  that,"  said 
John,  simply. 

"  What  church  is  yourn  ?  I  guess  I  kin  tell  ye 
somethin'  about  that.  I've  kinder  talked  things 
over  with  some  of  the  folks." 

"  I  am  a  Unitarian,"  said  John. 

"  Oh,  you  be  ?  " 

Mr.  Battle  had  not  the  least  idea  in  the  world 
what  "  Unitarian "  meant,  and  he  made  haste  to 
change  the  drift  of  the  conversation  a  little. 

"  I  guess  ye're  sorter  like  me.     I  don't  favor  no 
'special  church.     I  go  to  'em  all,  so's  ter  show  that 
there  ain't  no  feelin'  agin  'em.     Can't  nobody  say 
I've  ever  slighted  any  of  'em.     You  folks  ain't  gut 
no  church  here.     The  Methodists  an'  the   Baptists 
'pear  ter  have  the  crowd  in  this  place.     Them  Pres- 
byterians seems  ter  be    sorter   strong,  but   they're 
sorter  split  up  like.     That  makes  'em  sorter  weak- 
enin'.     I  guess  we'd  better  go  'round  ter  the  Meth- 
odist this  mornin',  hadn't  we  ?     I've  sorter  figgered 
it  out,  and  'pears  ter  me  that's  our  best  holt.     Our 
landlady  here  is  a  Methodist,  an'  that  might  make  a 
little  difference  on  board.     Then,  agin,  there  was  a 
feller  this  mornin'  said  he'd  kinder  like  ter  have  us 
set  up  in  the  choir.     I  s'pose  he  heard  our  music  last 
night.      Like    enough    he    heard    me    singin'    bass. 
Guess  we'd  better  go  'round,  hadn't  we  ?     Ye  see 
they're  buildin'  a  new  church  now,  sos't  they  hold 
services  in  the  court-house.     Sorter  give  ye  a  chance 
o  look  'round  that,  too." 


THE  MAN   AT   THE   DOOR  169 

As  Mr.  Battle  was  talking,  the  lady  of  the  house 
came  to  the  door  and  invited  John  and  Nellie  to 
attend  her  church.  Her  invitation  had  more  effect 
than  Mr.  Battle's  arguments,  and  the  3^oung  people 
gladly  accepted.  They  soon  started  for  the  court- 
house under  the  pilotage  of  Mr.  Battle,  who  seemed 
to  feel  that  they  were  under  his  immediate  charge. 

"  They's  one  sorter  cur'us  thing  about  this  church 
business,"  remarked  the  guide,  as  they  reached  the 
street.  "  The  niggers  don't  go  to  the  same  church 
that  the  white  people  do  at  all.  They  sorter  git  off 
by  themselves,  an'  have  preachin'.  As  nigh  as  I  can 
come  at  it,  from  what  they  tell  me,  the  Methodist 
church  sorter  split  like  when  the  war  bruck  out,  an' 
they  ain't  never  come  back,  except  that  the  niggers 
is  sorter  in  with  the  Northern  end,  whilst  the  South- 
ern end  sorter  hangs  out.  P'raps  I  ain't  gut  it 
straight,  but  'pears  ter  me  the  niggers  an'  the  white 
Methodists  up  North  forms  one  sorter  church,  an' 
the  folks  here  is  sorter  in  another  click.  Beats  all, 
don't  it  ?  They  say  these  niggers  ain't  got  no  idee 
of  religion  at  all.  They  jest  go  off  by  themselves, 
an'  folks  say  it  beats  all  what  they  do  an'  say." 

John  studied  a  while  before  he  made  any  answer. 
Such  talk  made  him  think  of  the  matter  as  he  had 
never  done  before.  He  looked  at  several  groups 
of  negroes  that  passed  on  their  way  to  church.  The 
men  were  neatly  dressed,  and  the  women  were 
radiant  in  many-colored  costumes.  At  last  he  said, 
slowly :  — 

"  It  'pears  to  me  that  that's  jest  where  these  folks 
makes   a   big  mistake.      They   send    these   darkies 


170  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

'way  off  somewhere,  where  there  ain't  nobody  to 
show  'em  what's  right,  an'  then  blame  'em  because 
they  don't  do  as  well  as  white  folks.  I  don't  s'pose 
that  the  common  run  of  these  darkies  has  got  much 
sense,  but  it  ain't  agoin'  to  give  'em  any  more  to 
send  'era  'way  off  by  themselves.  You  set  a  fool  to 
teachin'  fools,  an'  you'll  raise  fools  faster'n  ye  can 
take  care  of  'em." 

This  was  a  new  line  of  thought  to  Mr.  Battle.  He 
could  only  say,  ''Like  enough  that's  so."  By  the 
time  he  had  found  any  other  answer  they  had 
reached  the  court-house. 

A  small  group  of  young  men  stood  about  the  door. 
These  stood  back  as  John's  party  approached. 
Once  inside,  a  tall  man  at  the  end  of  the  room  rose 
and  beckoned  them  to  a  place  at  the  front.  After 
taking  their  seats,  they  looked  carefully  about  them. 
They  were  in  a  large,  high  hall.  The  walls  were 
discolored  in  many  places,  and  a  colony  of  indus- 
trious spiders  had  left  their  marks  all  over  the 
corners  of  the  ceiling.  A  light  railing  marked  off 
perhaps  one-third  of  the  room  —  drawing  the  divid- 
ing line  between  lawyers  and  spectators.  The  seats 
were  low  and  rough,  and  many  an  industrious  knife 
had  used  them  for  an  autograph  album.  The  men 
sat  on  one  side  of  the  room,  while  the  women  filled 
the  other.  Behind  the  bar,  at  one  side,  sat  a  line  of 
old,  white-haired  men,  with  their  heads  bent  forward 
upon  their  canes.  At  the  other  side,  the  members 
of  the  choir  were  gathered  about  a  small  organ. 
The  singers  were  mostly  bright,  young  girls,  there 
being  but  three  men  to  hold  up  the  masculine  portion 


THE  MAN  AT  THE  DOOR  171 

of  the  music.  Mr.  Battle  went  up  and  took  his  seat 
with  the  choir.  He  tried  to  get  John  and  Nellie  to 
follow  him,  but  they  preferred  to  stay  in  the  congre- 
gation. The  preacher  sat  on  a  little  platform  at  the 
extreme  end  of  the  room.  It  was  the  place  usually 
reserved  for  the  judge.  Just  over  his  head  stood  a 
small  statue  of  "  Justice."  By  some  accident  the 
bandage  over  the  eyes  of  this  image  had  been 
broken,  and  one  eye  looked  carefully  at  the  scales 
held  in  the  hand.  The  dust  of  time  and  neglect 
had  done  its  best  to  take  the  place  of  the  bandage, 
but  it  was  not  much  of  a  success.  The  eye  still 
kept  upon  the  scales. 

The  church  services  were  conducted  with  spirit 
and  dignity.  There  was  nothing  about  the  sermon 
that  could  not  have  been  said  at  the  old  church  at 
Breezetown.  Many  of  the  expressions  seemed  odd 
to  the  New  England  people  —  as,  for  instance,  the 
preacher  spoke  of  giving  a  great  ''dining."  In  mak- 
ing an  illustration  of  the  freedom  of  salvation,  he 
said:  "Suppose  you  were  all  invited  to  attend  a 
great  dining.  You  would  all  go,  I  reckon.  The  man 
who  gave  the  dining  would  come  out  of  his  house 
and  say,  *  You  are  all  free  to  come.  This  is  for  you. 
You  are  all  free  to  attend  this  dining.' " 

John  had  somehow  expected  that  the  preacher 
would  allude  to  the  political  situation  in  his  sermon. 
There  was  nothing  of  the  kind  to  be  observed.  The 
sermon  was  simply  a  plain,  earnest  talk,  and  John 
felt  better  after  hearing  it.  The  hymns,  in  which 
Mr.  Battle's  bass  did  yeoman  service,  were  well 
sung.     There  was  one  deep  alto  voice  in  the  choir 


172  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

that  swept  like  a  flood  of  melody  through  the  hymns. 
At  the  last  prayer  the  people  all  knelt  together. 
The  sun  shone  brightly  on  the  white-haired  group  at 
the  side.  The  old  men  prayed  earnestly,  with  their 
arms  thrown  over  the  railing.  Kneeling  there  at 
their  side  it  did  not  seem  possible  to  John  that  he 
had  fought  these  men,  and  that  these  women  had 
cursed  him  so  terribly. 

One  thing  happened  that  caused  John  a  great  deal 
of  study.  As  he  entered  the  building  he  had  noticed 
a  man  of  about  his  own  age  standing  near  the  door. 
This  man  stood  in  a  humble,  lifeless  attitude,  with 
his  hat  pulled  down  over  his  eyes.  John  could  only 
see  a  portion  of  the  face,  but  there  was  something 
about  it  that  made  him  stop  in  surprise.  He  could 
not  tell  what  it  was  —  he  was  ashamed  of  himself 
for  stopping  —  yet  when  Nellie  pulled  at  his  arm  he 
went  on  into  the  court-house,  trying  to  think  where 
he  had  seen  that  face  before.  It  seemed  burned 
upon  his  memory,  and  yet  he  could  not  tell  where  it 
had  looked  into  his  life.  The  man  at  the  door  did 
not  notice  John  at  all.  He  pushed  farther  into  the 
corner,  but  his  eyes  were  bent  upon  a  young  woman 
who  came  slowly  up  the  steps  just  behind  John 
and  Nellie.  He  kept  his  eyes  on  the  ground  as 
she  came  in  the  door,  only  now  and  then  glancing 
up  at  her  face.  She  walked  proudly  past  him,  with- 
out even  looking  in  his  direction. 

She  was  a  small  woman  —  about  as  large  as  Nellie. 
Her  hair  was  black  as  jet,  and  her  face  pale  and 
pinched.  Her  eyes  seemed  to  flash  as  she  passed  by 
the  man  in  the  doorway,  and  her  mouth  came  firmly 


THE  MAN   AT  THE  DOOR  173 

together  as  she  turned  her  head  away.  The  man 
hung  his  head  still  lower  as  she  entered  the  room. 
He  came  in  at  length,  and  sat  on  the  end  of  the 
row  where  she  was  sitting.  He  kept  his  eyes  straight 
ahead,  and  never  looked  at  her  until  she  bent  forward 
during  the  last  prayer.  Then  he  watched  her  with  a 
wistful  look  in  his  eyes.  After  the  service  he  walked- 
slowly  out  with  the  rest.  He  seemed  to  be  alone. 
Few  people  spoke  to  him,  and  John  saw  him  at  last 
mount  his  horse  and  ride  slowly  out  of  town. 

John  and  Nellie  talked  about  him  as  they  walked 
home  from  church.  Mr.  Battle  stayed  behind.  He 
wished  to  practise  with  the  choir,  and  there  was  a 
good  prospect  of  his  being  invited  to  address  the 
Sunday-school.  John  was  greatly  puzzled.  He 
could  not  bring  himself  to  remember  where  he  had 
seen  that  face,  and  yet  he  remembered  it  well. 
Nellie  laughed  at  him.  She  had  only  noticed  that 
the  strange  man  was  dreadfully  in  love  with  the 
pale  woman  in  black.  She  was  glad  John  had 
noticed  the  man,  for  now  he  could  tell  just  how  he 
had  looked  on  a  certain  memorable  occasion.  John 
laughed  at  this  and  said  he  was  sure  he  had  never 
looked  quite  like  that ;  but  Nellie  was  sure  of  it,  so 
he  said  nothing  more  about  it,  though  he  still  studied 
away  to  try  and  see  if  he  could  not  tell  where  he 
had  seen  the  stranger. 

As  they  walked  slowly  onward,  a  man  came  brisk- 
ly behind  them.  John  turned  aside  to  make  room 
for  passing,  but  the  new-comer  did  not  seem  at  all 
disposed  to  hurry  by.  He  seemed  so  evidently 
desirous  of  speaking  that  John  nodded  and  at  last 


174  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

held  out  his  hand.  The  stranger  shook  the  proffered 
hand  heartily. 

"  Mr.  Rockwell,  I  reckon,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  sir  :  that's  my  name,"  answered  John. 

"I'm  mighty  glad  to  see  you,  sar,"  said  the  new- 
comer, as  he  shook  hands  again.  "My  name  is 
Bond  —  David  Bond.  I  come  from  Iowa.  I  heard 
that  you  come  in  last  night,  an'  I  wanted  to  speak  to 
ye  after  preachin',  but  somehow  I  didn't  like  to 
bother  ye.  My  wife  thought  I'd  better  step  along 
an'  invite  ye  to  come  round  an'  eat  dinner  with  us. 
We  ain't  gut  no  great  show,  but,  such  as  'tis,  we'd 
like  to  have  ye  come  an'  eat." 

There  was  a  bluff  heartiness  about  this  invitation 
that  pleased  John  and  Nellie  greatly.  It  came 
nearer  the  home  style  of  doing  such  things  than 
anything  they  had  found  since  they  had  left  New 
England.  They  accepted  at  once,  and  followed  Mr. 
Bond  up  a  side  street  till  he  stopped  before  a  little 
cottage  that  stood  back  from  the  street  in  a  perfect 
mass  of  vines  and  trees.  "  This  is  my  place,"  said 
Mr.  Bond,  as  he  opened  the  gate  for  them  to  pass 
through. 

Mrs.  Bond  stood  at  the  front  of  the  house  to  wel- 
come them.  She  was  a  thin,  sickly  woman  with  a 
sweet,  patient  face,  that  told  of  strengthening  suffer- 
ing. She  greeted  the  new-comers  so  pleasantly  that 
Nellie  could  not  help  kissing  her.  This  act  tended 
to  bring  out  the  best  possible  feeling  among  the 
whole  party.  John  and  Mr.  Bond,  of  course,  had  to 
shake  hands  again,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bond  had  to 
kiss  little  Nellie,  while  John  gathered  about  him  the 


THE  JSIAN   AT   THE  DOOR  175 

small  army  of  little  people  that  came  trooping  out  of 
the  house.  Nellie  afterwards  told  John  that  it 
seemed  just  like  meeting  "home  folks." 

After  a  short  talk  Mrs.  Bond  excused  herself. 
The  dinner  was  well  under  way,  and  she  was  obliged 
to  superintend  it.  Nellie  went  too,  though  Mrs. 
Bond  tried  to  make  her  remain  on  the  piazza.  She 
did  not  like  to  ask  her 'visitor  to  work,  but  Nellie 
was  determined  to  help.  Most  of  the  children  fol- 
lowed the  women,  and  Mr.  Bond  and  John  were  left 
to  talk. 

John  simply  asked  a  few  questions  and  let  Mr. 
Bond  talk.  He  had  listened  to  so  many  different 
opinions  that  he  hardly  knew  what  to  say.  Mr.  Bond 
seemed  glad  of  the  chance  of  telling  his  story.  It 
had  been  locked  up  in  his  heart  too  long.  It  seemed 
to  take  some  of  the  bitterness  away  to  relate  it  to 
friendly  ears.  He  talked  so  long  and  earnestly  that 
both  of  the  men  were  surprised  when  the  crowd  of 
children  came  rushing  back  with  a  loud  call  for  din- 
ner. The  two  men  rose  and  followed  the  little  army 
of  hungry  mouths  back  to  the  dinner-table,  where 
the  two  women  were  waiting.  The  baby —  of  course 
there  had  to  be  a  baby  in  such  a  well  ordered 
family  —  was  staring  from  the  arms  of  a  little  negro 
boy  as  they  passed  through  the  hall.  David  caught 
the  little  end  of  the  family  on  his  shoulder,  and  car- 
ried him  in  triumph  into  the  room.  When  they  sat 
at  the  table,  baby  sat  on  his  father's  knee  in  order 
to  save  room. 

The  dinner  was  a  very  merry  one.  To  be  sure 
the  table  was  small  and  the  company  was  a  large 


176  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

one,  yet  the  two  families  were  on  such  good  terms  that 
a  little  crowding  did  not  hurt  them  at  all  —  in  fact 
it  did  them  good.  The  little  negro  boy,  with  one  or 
two  of  the  smaller  children  to  help  him  wash  dishes 
and  spoons,  did  nobly  as  a  waiter.  The  children 
who  helped  him  sat  at  the  ends  of  the  table,  in  con- 
venient places  for  sliding  in  and  out  of  their  chairs 
without  giving  a  serious  shock  to  the  whole  company. 
Sometimes  they  took  part  of  their  dinner  with  them 
and  ate  with  one  hand  while  they  helped  with  the 
other.  The  dinner  was  a  great  success.  There  was 
nothing  elegant  about  it,  but  everybody,  down  to 
the  baby,  had  enough  to  eat.  The  guests  felt  tliat 
they  Avere  being  handsomely  treated,  and  the  host 
and  hostess  knew  that  their  friends  enjoyed  them- 
selves. How  could  a  dinner  be  more  of  a  success? 
When  it  was  finished,  David  showed  John  about  the 
little  place.  By  hard  work  and  study  the  few  rough 
acres  had  been  turned  into  a  garden.  There  was  a 
small  vineyard,  a  little  orchard,  a  good  garden,  and  a 
pasture  for  the  cow.  Below  the  garden  fence  was  a 
rough  hillside,  cut  with  great  gullies  that  seemed  to 
have  turned  red  with  the  blood  of  murdered  agricul- 
ture. On  the  other  side  of  the  fence  was  the  neat 
garden.  It  seemed  as  if  some  monster  had  gnawed 
its  way  up  to  the  fence  and  then  turned  back  in  rage 
before  the  careful  culture  that  dulled  its  cruel  teetli. 
The  red  gullies  had  been  closed  up  and  every  foot 
of  land  inside  the  fence  was  doing  its  duty.  David 
pointed  out  the  difference  to  John. 

"Five  years  ago,"  lie  said,  "it  was   all  just  like 
that  land  below  that  fence.     Now  you  see  what  a 


THE  MAN   AT  THE  DOOR  177 

little  work  and  mother-wit  have  done.  They  told 
me  all  along  that  I  couldn't  raise  grapes  or  apples  or 
peaches  in  this  country.  They  all  said  this  land 
would  wash  out.  Here  it  is,  an'  it  don't  look  like  it 
was  goin'  to  wash  much  this  year.  You  can  raise 
anything  you  want  in  this  country.  People  hang 
onto  cotton  an'  won't  touch  nothin'  else.  They  buy 
their  meat  an'  corn  an'  pay  three  prices  for  'em. 
They  can  raise  every  ounce  of  meat  an'  every  peck 
of  corn  right  in  this  country,  an'  they  have  got  to  do 
it  or  leave  for  some  other  State  where  the  land  ain't 
wore  out.  They  have  got  to  pick  up  Yankee  farmin' 
an'  the  Yankee  style  of  doin'  things,  whether  they 
want  to  or  not." 

As  John  and  Nellie  walked  back  to  the  hotel,  they 
talked  over  the  events  of  the  day.  Mrs.  Bond  had 
told  Nellie  her  side  of  the  life  during  the  ''  Radical 
rule." 

John  studied  away  in  silence  for  a  moment.  Then 
he  said,  suddenly  : 

"  Are  you  sorry  we  came  down  here  ?  " 

"  Not  a  mite,"  said  Nellie,  brightly.  "  We  shall 
get  along  all  right,  I'm  sure  —  only  don't  say  a  word 
about  politics,  John.  It  won't  do  us  any  good  and 
it  might  hurt  us  dreadfully." 

They  found  Mr.  Battle  waiting  on  the  piazza. 

"  Where  you  folks  ben  ?  "  he  asked,  as  they  came 
up.  "  I've  sorter  lost  run  of  ye  sence  the  preachin'  — 
ye  orter  stayed  an'  heard  what  I  said  to  the  Sunday- 
school.     They  'peared  to  like  it  first-rate." 

"  We've  ben  makin'  a  visit,"  said  John. 

"Where'd  ye  go?  —  beats  all  how  you  folks  pick 


178  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

up  friends,  don't  it?  There  was  a  feller  like  to  in- 
vited me  home  ter  dinner,  but  somehow  he  didn't 
git  round  to  it.  Beats  all  how  these  folks  sorter 
hang  off  an'  never  come  up  when  ye  want  'em.  Goin' 
to  preachin'  agin  this  evenin',  I  suppose,  ain't  ye  ?  " 
John  and  Nellie  decided  to  stay  at  home,  and,  after 
further  talk,  Mr.  Battle  went  alone  to  contribute  his 
bass  to  the  volume  of  the  choir's  music. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

EUN  TO   KUINS 

As  soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  Monday  morning, 
John  went  to  the  livery  stable  to  secure  a  horse.  A 
sleepy  negro  was  the  only  business  occupant  of  the 
stable,  and,  while  this  individual  was  caring  for  the 
horse,  John  walked  slowly  up  the  main  street.  He 
felt  so  full  of  energy  that  he  could  not  sit  down  and 
wait.  There  were  very  few  people  abroad.  The 
Jews  were  all  in  their  stores,  and  a  few  men  sat 
along  in  front  of  the  buildings,  smoking  their  pipes 
as  if  the  week  could  never  be  properly  opened  with- 
out an  extra  flood  of  smoke.  They  smoked  with 
great  seriousness  and  kept  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
ground.  There  was  no  energy  about  their  pleasure. 
The  smoke  crawled  lazily  out  of  their  mouths,  as  if 
caring  little  what  its  future  might  be.  A  melan- 
choly individual  was  standing  in  front  of  the  store 
where  John  had  talked  with  the  fat  merchant  — a 
tall,  thin  man  with  a  yellow  face  and  hair  of  the 
same  color.  The  face  was  long  and  thin  —  the 
cheeks  hollow  —  and  the  eyes  were  small  and  dull 
with  a  heavy,  boiled  appearance.  The  forehead  re- 
ceded as  if  in  haste  to  meet  the  tangle  of  hair  that 
looked  as  if  the  thin  man  had  placed  a  quantity  of 
poorly  cured  hay  under  his  hat.     The  face  looked  as 

179 


180  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

if  this  hay  had  been  steeped  and  the  water  permitted 
to  slowly  trickle  down  to  the  chin.  The  man  was 
clothed  in  a  suit  of  jean  of  a  most  uncertain  color. 
His  clothing  hung  about  him  with  about  as  much 
grace  —  as  John  expressed  it  —  as  the  week's  wash- 
ing hung  on  the  clothes-line.  A  pair  of  great  shape- 
less shoes  covered  his  feet.  He  had  evidently  just 
driven  into  town,  and  was  resting  against  a  rickety 
wagon  before  which  stood  two  stunted  oxen,  leaning 
against  each  other  for  support.  The  man  held  an 
empty  bag  in  his  hand. 

As  John  came  nearer,  this  melanchol}^  individual 
started  from  his  position  near  the  wagon,  and 
walked  slowly  and  despairingly  into  the  store.  The 
fat  proprietor  met  him  at  the  door,  and  John  fol- 
lowed the  two,  curious  to  see  wliat  the  mission  of 
such  a  melancholy  specimen  of  humanity  could  be. 
After  along  discussion  the  customer  bought  a  peck 
of  corn  and  a  great  lump  of  salt  pork.  He  looked 
longingly  at  other  provisions  which  the  proprietor 
temptingly  displayed,  but  they  seemed  to  be  too  ex- 
pensive for  him.  He  walked  back  to  his  wagon  at 
last — walked  wearily,  as  if  the  rust  had  gathered  on 
all  his  joints.  After  packing  his  supplies  away  in 
the  wagon,  he  started  his  gaunt  oxen  into  activity, 
and  walked  down  the  street  at  their  side,  cracking 
his  great  whip  as  he  walked.  It  seemed  like  a  per- 
fect picture  of  agricultural  despair. 

The  portly  merchant,  rendered  affable  by  his  early 
sale,  smiled  as  he  glanced  at  John's  face. 

"Mighty  hard  way  ter  live,  I  reckon,"  he  said,  as 
he  nodded  in  the  direction  of  his  gaunt  customer. 


RUN   TO   RUINS  181 

"  He'll  go  out  till  he  eats  that  meat  up,  an'  then 
he'll  come  back  for  mo'." 

"  How  do  you  git  yer  pay  ?  "  asked  John. 

The  customer  had  paid  no  cash  for  the  goods,  and 
John  could  hardly  see  how  such  a  looking  man  could 
secure  credit.  At  home,  a  merchant  would  not  have 
trusted  such  a  man  with  a  box  of  matches. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,  I  reckon.  We  don't  lose  no 
pay  scarcely.  Them  things  is  all  paid  for  now,  ye 
might  say.  We  jest  take  a  lien  on  his  crop,  an' 
when  he  brings  it  in  we  run  up  his  account  an'  start 
him  off  agin  for  next  year.  Such  fellers  as  him  don't 
raise  nothin'  but  cotton.  We  keep  'em  in  corn  an' 
meat  an'  take  their  crop  to  pay  for  it.  They  might 
raise  every  pound  o'  meat,  I  reckon.  Folks  uster 
could  befo'  the  war,  but  that  ain't  none  of  my  busi- 
ness, I  reckon.  Them  fellers  don't  never  git  nothin' 
ahead.  They  ain't  gut  no  pluck,  an'  they  won't 
never  be  nothin'.  I  reckon  they'll  all  have  ter  move 
out  for  Texas,  some  day.  I'd  hate  powerful  to  see 
'em  go,  for  there's  a  heap  of  money  to  be  made  trad- 
in'  with  'em." 

"  Where  do  ye  git  yer  pork  an'  corn  ? "  asked 
John. 

"  Right  smart  of  it  comes  from  Chicago.  It  costs 
a  heap  to  git  it  yer,  too." 

"  Couldn't  ye  raise  the  heft  of  it  here  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  so.  I  reckon  we  cud  raise  it  all  if  folks 
warn't  so  powerful  lazy." 

John  walked  back  to  the  stable,  thinking  over 
what  he  had  seen  and  heard.  If  this  farmer  was  a  fair 
type  of  the  men  who  were  to  be  his  neighbors,  he 


182  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

would  certainly  have  very  little  in  the  way  of  society. 
The  facts  concerning  the  provisions  pleased  him  ex- 
ceedingly. With  keen  Yankee  thrift  he  saw  at  once 
tlie  key  to  the  situation.  With  these  thousands  of 
people  raising  nothing  but  cotton,  and  buying  such 
a  large  proportion  of  their  meat,  the  meat  producer  or 
stock  grower  would  be  in  a  position  to  reap  an 
abundant  profit. 

Colonel  Gray  had  given  John  unlimited  authority. 
The  officer  knew  nothing  of  agriculture,  and  he  had 
the  utmost  confidence  in  John's  wisdom  and  ability. 
He  stood  ready  to  supply  any  reasonable  capital,  and 
place  the  entire  management  of  it  in  John's  hands. 
John  was  acquainted  with  but  one  style  of  farming, 
and  he  was  not  the  man  to  experiment  with  the  prop- 
erty of  others.  The  first  principle  of  agriculture,  as 
he  understood  it,  was  to  supply  as  much  as  possible  of 
the  food  used  at  home.  On  the  thin,  rocky  farm  in 
Maine,  he  had  raised  almost  all  the  provisions 
needed  in  the  family.  Those  that  could  not  be 
raised  at  home  were  bought  with  the  money  ob- 
tained from  the  sale  of  extra  hay  or  stock.  This  was 
the  only  style  of  farming  that  John  understood,  and 
the  more  he  saw  of  the  South,  the  more  he  became 
convinced  that  the  system  could  be  made  very  suc- 
cessful on  a  larger  scale. 

John  rode  slowly  out  of  town,  over  a  lonely  coun- 
try road  that  went  crawling  lazily  over  little  sand 
hills  and  low,  level  places,  as  if  it  liad  been  left  to 
pick  out  its  own  way.  John  rode  slowl3\  He  was 
painfully  aware  of  the  fact  that  he  was  not  a  grace- 
ful rider.     He  preferred  to  let  the   horse  select  its 


RUN   TO   RUINS  183 

own  pace  rather  than  urge  the  animal  to  a  rate  of 
speed  that  would  betray  his  own  awkwardness. 
The  animal  he  bestrode  was  of  such  a  very  mild  dis- 
position that  the  arrangement  suited  liim  exactly. 
He  went  on  with  a  long,  swinging  walk,  peculiar  to 
the  Southern  riding  horse,  tossing  his  head  slowly 
up  and  down,  to  show  how  well  this  pace  suited 
him. 

It  was  not  a  cheerful  ride.  The  country  seemed, 
somehow,  to  be  covered  with  a  shadow.  The  woods 
were  green  and  beautiful,  the  flowers  were  springing 
by  the  road,  and  the  sun  came  sparkling  in  right 
good  humor  —  yet  there  was  something,  it  was  hard 
10  say  what,  that  seemed  to  deaden  and  chill  what 
should  have  been  a  beautiful  picture.  No  doubt  if 
John  had  never  seen  the  hills  and  lanes  of  New  Eng- 
land, he  would  have  been  satisfied  with  this  pros- 
pect. No  doubt  the  picture  was  more  magnificent 
than  any  he  had  ever  seen  on  his  gray  old  rocks  at 
home,  but  he  could  not  appreciate  it.  Most  of  the 
land  near  the  road  seemed  dead  and  wasted.  A  few 
scattering  fields  of  corn  or  cotton  showed  green  and 
beautiful  in  the  sunshine,  but  the  vast  tract  of  land 
stretched  back  from  the  road,  dull  and  gnawed  by 
great  waste  patches  that  disfigured  its  surface,  dis- 
appointing the  visitor.  There  was  only  a  rank 
growth  of  weeds  or  worthless  grasses  to  cover  its 
nakedness.  In  the  great  agricultural  prize  fight  it 
had  been  soundly  whipped. 

The  fields  were  not  even  used  as  pastures.  In 
New  England  every  acre  would  have  been  dotted 
with    cattle    or  sheep.     Here,  the  only  stock   to  be 


184  ANDERS  ON  VILLE   VIOLETS 

seen  were  a  few  work  horses  or  mules,  and  some  an- 
gular cows  that  kept  close  to  the  house,  as  if  for 
society.  In  place  of  the  great  smile  of  hospitality 
that  seems  to  light  up  the  front  of  a  New  England 
home,  a  pack  of  savage  dogs  came  tearing  out  at 
almost  every  yard  to  snarl  and  bark  the  sentiments 
of  the  family.  No  wonder  the  country  seemed 
dreary  and  lifeless  to  John.  There  was  no  life  and 
bustle  of  industry.  All  nature  lay  idle  and  wasted. 
There  is  nothing  but  work,  or  the  evidence  of  it 
that  can  put  true  beauty  into  a  landscape. 

There  were  but  few  houses  to  be  seen  along  the 
road.  A  few  negro  cabins,  rough,  and  broken,  and 
disorderly,  each  with  its  little  patch  of  cotton  or 
"truck,"  stood  at  wide  intervals.  At  longer  dis- 
tances, the  house  of  some  large  planter  would  start 
gloomily  out  from  its  little  grove  of  trees.  Most  of 
them  were  massive  structures,  with  wide  piazzas  and 
great  pillars  in  front.  They  all  seemed  neglected 
and  gloomy.  The  paint  had  been  worn  away,  and 
never  replaced.  The  grounds,  planned  in  the  days 
of  magnificence,  before  the  war,  had  never  been  kept 
up.  Now,  the  weeds  and  grass  ran  over  walks  and 
flower-beds,  and  choked  out  the  beauty  of  the  orig- 
inal design.  The  fences  were  ragged  and  unpainted. 
All  things  bore  the  mark  of  some  terrible  blight  that 
was  still  eating  its  way  to  the  heart. 

John  was  directed  to  his  own  place  by  an  old  negro, 
who  sat  sunning  himself  in  front  of  a  cabin.  This  old 
fellow  pointed,  with  liis  stick,  a  short  distance  down 
the  road,  to  a  place  where  a  broken  gate  admitted  a 
side  track  into  a  small  grove.     John  rode  on  in  the 


RUN   TO   RUINS  185 

direction  thus  indicated,  and  halted  at  the  gate  for  a 
first  view  of  his  new  home.  The  gate  had  fallen  di- 
rectly across  the  road,  and  several  teams  had  evi- 
dently been  driven  over  it.  Some  of  the  slats  had 
been  cut  off  for  firewood.  The  fence  was  falling  in 
many  places.  The  road  wound  gracefully  up  through 
the  little  grove,  to  the  front  of  a  large  white  house, 
inclosed  by  a  low  picket  fence.  The  house  looked 
dingy  and  dirty.  The  paint  had  peeled  away  in 
spots,  and  the  blinds  hung  broken  and  unjointed,  or 
stood  up  against  the  house.  Many  of  the  windows 
were  broken,  and  the  door  that  opened  into  the  wide 
hall  was  off  its  hinges.  It  stood  helplessly  up  against 
the  side  of  the  hall,  leaving  the  open  door  to  grin 
over  its  victory.  There  were  great  dingy  spots  of 
decay  about  the  door  and  windows,  like  the  dark 
lines  that  gather  about  the  mouth  and  eyes  of  a  sick 
person.  The  little  yard  in  front  of  the  house  was 
foul  with  weeds  and  vines.  It  looked  like  a  face  on 
which  is  growing  a  two-weeks  beard.  It  is  too  short 
to  be  picturesque,  and  too  long  to  be  tidy. 

As  John  rode  in  from  the  gate,  he  found  a  negro 
working  by  the  side  of  the  driveway.  It  was  John's 
first  view  of  Southern  haj^making,  and  he  watched 
the  process  with  a  curious  mixture  of  feelings.  The 
negro  had  gathered  his  hay  into  a  number  of  small 
piles.  He  was  engaged  in  carrying  it  to  some  point 
behind  the  house.  He  had  a  broken  wheelbarrow, 
which  he  placed  at  some  central  point.  Then,  with 
a  long-handed  sliovel,  he  made  a  trip  to  each  little 
pile,  returning  witli  a  shovelful  to  the  wheelbarrow. 
When  about  one-fourth  of  an  ordinary  "  forkful "  had 


186  ANDERSON VILLE  VIOLETS 

been  collected  in  this  vehicle,  he  started  leisurely 
with  his  load,  stopping  to  "  rest  "  at  short  intervals. 
John  watched  one  of  these  trips  without  a  word. 
When  the  negro  came  back,  he  ducked  his  head, 
with,  "  Howdy,  boss  ?  " 

"Why  don't  ye  use  yer  fork  an'  take  a  good-sized 
load  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  I  ain't  gut  nary  a  one,  boss,"  was  the  answer,  as 
the  negro  stopped  work  to  lean  on  his  shovel  and 
scratch  his  head. 

"What'd  ye  cut  that  hay  with?"  asked  John,  as 
he  dismounted  and  fastened  his  horse  to  a  tree.  The 
ground  from  which  the  hay  had  been  cut  looked 
more  like  a  shingled  roof  than  the  smooth  mowing 
ground  at  home. 

"  I  reckon  I  done  cut  it  with  a  hoe,  boss." 

The  negro  spoke  as  though  he  considered  the  only 
surprising  thing  connected  with  this  fact  to  be  the 
thought  that  a  white  man  should  not  know  what 
tools  were  in  use. 

As  John  was  speaking,  two  men  came  riding  along 
the  road.  At  the  gate  they  separated.  One  came 
up  the  driveway  to  the  house,  while  the  other  rode 
on  down  the  road  towards  the  town.  John  knew 
the  first  to  be  Colonel  Fair,  while  the  other  was  tlie 
strange  man  he  had  noticed  at  the  court-house  the 
day  before.  Colonel  Fair  rode  up  and  fastened  his 
horse  to  a  tree.     He  shook  hands  with  John. 

"Glad  to  see  ye,  judge.  I  thought  I'd  ride  over, 
an'  show  ye  round  a  little.  Them  niggers  have  jest 
about  run  things  into  the  ground,  I  reckon.  Here, 
you,    Jim,"    he    said,    sharply,    to    the    black    hay- 


RUN   TO   RUINS  187 

maker,  *'go  git  me  some  water;  bring  it  into  the 
house." 

Jim  dropped  his  shovel,  and  at  once  started  for 
the  well,  while  Colonel  Fair  led  the  w^ay  into  the 
house.  John  groaned  aloud  at  the  weedy  garden 
and  the  ding}'  house. 

The  house  was  in  wild  disorder.  In  what  was 
once  the  grand  parlor  the  negroes  had  heaped  a  great 
pile  of  cotton.  Most  of  the  furniture  had  been  re- 
moved. The  walls  were  discolored,  and  the  floors 
blackened.  John  wondered  what  Nellie  would  say 
when  she  saw  the  dirty  rooms. 

An  old  negro  woman  sat  sunning  herself  on  the 
back  porch.  She  was  smoking  a  short  clay  pipe, 
which  she  removed  from  her  mouth  as  the  two  men 
came  through  the  hall.  After  some  discussion,  she 
was  induced  to  stir  from  her  comfortable  position 
and  kindle  a  fire  under  a  large  kettle  that  hung  be- 
tween two  posts  in  the  yard.  John  was  determined 
to  begin  operations  at  once,  with  a  liberal  applica- 
tion of  hot  water  to  the  inside  of  the  house.  The 
black  haymaker  was  detailed  to  assist  the  old  woman; 
and  leaving  the  two  at  their  new  work,  the  white  men 
started  out  to  look  over  the  plantation. 

It  was  a  sad-looking  sight  to  a  thrifty  farmer  like 
John.  Not  one-tenth  of  the  land  was  under  cultiva- 
tion in  any  form.  A  few  fields  of  sickly  cotton  and 
consumptive  corn,  and  some  few  truck  patches  around 
the  negro  cabins,  comprised  the  entire  agricultural 
system  of  the  place.  Great  barren  fields,  covered 
with  weeds,  and  cut  and  slashed  with  great  red 
wounds,  stretched  away  on  every  hand.     There  was 


188  ANDERSON VILLE  VIOLETS 

only  one  small  shed  to  serve  for  a  barn.  The  only 
stock  to  be  seen  ran  swiftly  away  at  their  approach, 
—  a  small  drove  of  long-nosed  hogs,  and  two  bony 
cows;  old  tools,  sticks,  and  litter  of  all  kinds  were 
scattered  about.  A  gin-house  stood  at  some  little 
distance  from  the  shed,  and  a  pan  for  evaporating 
sugar  was  built  near  the  well.  The  plantation  had 
evidently  been  once  owned  by  a  large  slaveholder. 
The  negro  cabins  were  numerous;  they  formed  a 
little  village  just  below  the  house.  A  few  negroes 
w^ere  at  work  in  the  cotton  fields,  while  a  small  army 
of  little  blacks  ran  about  the  place  or  played  under 
the  trees.  John  and  Colonel  Fair  walked  down  to 
the  little  hill  back  of  the  gin-house,  where  they  could 
look  over  the  entire  plantation.  Never  had  John 
seen  the  literature  of  idleness,  mismanagement,  and 
lack  of  thrift  written  so  deeply  upon  a  farm.  Here 
in  this  beautiful  country,  with  everj^  natural  advan- 
tage, this  grand  old  plantation,  with  all  its  wonder- 
ful possibilities,  was  running  to  a  desert.  He  did 
not  feel  in  the  least  discouraged.  He  had  perfect 
confidence  in  his  own  ability.  He  knew  what  land 
could  be  made  to  do.  His  life  had  shown  him  what 
honest  work  could  accomplish. 

"  What  be  they  thinkin'  of,  to  run  a  farm  this 
way  ?  "  he  asked,  as  they  started  back  to  the  house. 
"I  see  that  feller  in  front  of  the  house  loadin'  hay 
with  a  round-pinted  shovel.  That  beats  all  the 
hayin'  I  ever  see." 

"  You'll  see  plenty  more  jest  like  it  afore  you  git 
done  here,"  said  Colonel  Fair.  "  They  don't  know  no 
better,  an'  a   heap  of  'em  don't  care  nothin'  about 


KUN   TO   KUINS  189 

learnin'.  A  heap  of  the  white  folks  jest  leave  their 
farms  to  such  niggers  as  you've  gut  here,  an'  then 
growl  because  they  can't  make  nothin'  at  farmin'. 
The  great  trouble  with  this  country  "  —  he  stopped 
in  the  shade  of  the  gin-house  to  put  a  rivet  on  his 
argument  —  "is  jest  what  I  told  you  in  town. 
There's  a  heap  of  old  fellers  here  that  jest  live  to 
keep  this  country  back.  I've  lived  here  a  good 
many  years,  an'  I've  studied  these  fellers  like  a  book. 
I've  done  well  here — mighty  well.  I  started  with 
nothin'  an'  now  I  kin  show  the  best  place  in  the 
county.  I'm  well  fixed,  but  I  ain't  satisfied.  There 
ain't  nobody  here  for  me  to  talk  to  as  I  wanter  talk. 
It's  worth  a  heap  ter  live  up  North  among  them 
people,  I  reckon.  I'm  mighty  glad  you've  come  in. 
We  ain't  had  much  for  neighbors  afore  now.  Old 
Doc.  Lawrence  is  a  nice  old  man,  but  he  ain't  gut 
no  sense  at  all.  Sorter  cracked,  I  reckon.  Foster 
over  yunder  ain't  no  company.  Sorter  slack,  he  is, 
an'  yet,  come  to  git  him  to  work,  he  might  do  some- 
thin'.  We  must  work  together  an'  try  to  fill  this 
country  up  with  Northern  men.  If  we  kin  get  a 
hundred  families  in  round  us  here,  we  won't  want  no 
better  thing  at  all.  We  can  run  the  county  an' fix 
things  to  suit  us.  I  sorter  like  you.  I  reckon  you've 
come  here  to  stay.  We  can  work  together  on  a  good 
many  things." 

As  they  walked  in  from  the  gin-house,  John  told 
all  of  his  story  that  he  thought  advisable.  He  told 
enough  to  show  Colonel  Fair  what  he  meant  to  try 
and  do.  His  new  neighbor  showed  much  interest  in 
the  plans. 


190  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

"You're  gut  jest  tlie  riglitidee,"  was  his  comment. 
"  You  kin  turn  every  one  of  them  rough-looking 
fields  into  a  pasture.  Don't  try  to  raise  nothin'  but 
cotton.  That's  a  good  crop  to  raise,  jest  like  they 
raise  wheat  at  the  North.  Make  it  the  surplus  crop 
an'  you've  gut  'era." 

They  reached  the  house  to  find  the  cleaning  opera- 
tions suspended  for  the  time  being.  The  fire  under 
the  kettle  had  gone  out  while  listening  to  an  ani- 
mated discussion  on  religion,  that  had  been  started 
by  the  haymaker  and  warmly  taken  up  by  the  old 
woman.  The  two  debaters  stood  by  the  side  of  the 
kettle,  talking  and  gesticulating  with  such  earnest- 
ness that  they  did  not  notice  the  approach  of  the 
white  men.  When  they  looked  up  to  find  that  a 
new  and  critical  audience  had  assembled,  they 
dropped  the  debate  and  fell  upon  their  work  with  a 
vigor  which  would,  if  kept  up,  soon  have  finished 
the  job.  The  haymaker  dropped  upon  his  knees  and 
put  his  breath  to  a  more  practical  use,  by  blowing 
fresh  life  into  the  fire.  The  old  woman  hurriedly 
stirred  the  water,  as  if  that  process  would  hasten  its 
heating.  Colonel  Fair  smiled  at  John's  expression 
of  disgust.  *' That's  all  riglit,"  he  said,  "you've 
got  to  stay  right  over  'em  an'  make  'em  work. 
That's  jest  nigger-like,  an'  you  can't  change  it  at 
all." 

John  did  "stay  over  "  them  with  a  royal  good  will 
for  the  rest  of  the  forenoon.  He  even  took  off  his 
coat  and  worked  with  them.  With  an  old  broom 
and  a  bucket  of  hot  water,  they  scrubbed  out  the 
hall  and  two  rooms.     John   tried  to  find  a  scythe 


RUN   TO   RUINS  191 

with  which  to  mow  the  weeds  that  had  formed  a 
dense  mat  in  the  little  yard.  Such  an  implement 
was  unknown  on  the  plantation.  The  little  hay- 
that  had  been  secured  had  been  cut  with  hoes. 
John  hunted  out  a  negro  who  brought  a  great 
clumsy  hoe  witli  which  he  slashed  the  weeds.  There 
was  no  such  thing  as  a  pitchfork  on  the  place. 

Colonel  Fair  rode  away,  on  some  errand  of  his 
own,  shortly  after  John  began  work.  At  noon  he 
came  back  and  insisted  that  John  should  go  home  to 
take  dinner  with  him.  John  was  glad  of  this  invita- 
tion. There  was  something  about  this  blunt  neigh- 
bor that  he  liked.  Leaving  the  negroes  at  work,  the 
two  men  rode  out  at  the  broken  gate  and  down  along 
the  road  over  which  John  had  come. 

Colonel  Fair's  house  stood  about  half  a  mile  from 
John's  gate.  They  were  neighbors,  as  the  two  plan- 
tations joined.  The  house  stood  back  from  the  road, 
in  a  beautiful  group  of  trees.  Everything  about  it 
was  neat  and  orderly.  The  paint  was  fresh,  the 
fences  were  well  kept,  and  the  lawn  was  clean  and 
well  arranged.  It  was  a  beautiful  picture  of  thrift 
and  comfort.  There  were  no  dead  and  wasted-look- 
ing fields  in  sight.  Everything  was  covered  with  a 
beautiful  cloak  of  green  —  Nature's  bridal  color. 

"  Looks  sorter  nice,  don't  it  ?  "  said  Colonel  Fair, 
as  he  reined  in  his  horse  at  the  gate.  "  It  was  wuss- 
lookin'  than  yours  is  when  I  fust  took  hold  of  it.  It 
takes  work,  an'  an  almighty  stout  heart,  to  git  along 
here,  but  it's  sure  to  count  in  the  end." 

Colonel  Fair's  family  consisted  of  his  wife  and 
two  young  boys.     They  all  greeted  John  very  pleas- 


192  ANDEliSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

antly.  The  boys  seemed  a  little  strange  to  John. 
Born  at  the  North  and  inheriting  Northern  senti- 
ments and  tastes,  they  had  been  brought  up  at  the 
South,  with  all  the  peculiar  influences  that  affect  the 
Southern  youth.  They  were  different  from  North- 
ern boys,  and  yet  unlike  the  boys  born  at  the  South. 
Colonel  Fair  touched  upon  this  very  point  when, 
after  dinner,  they  drew  their  chairs  out  on  the 
piazza. 

"  I'm  mighty  sorry,"  he  said,  "  that  I  can't  bring 
up  my  children  at  the  North.  It's  mighty  bad  to 
have  children,  boys  'specially,  come  up  here 
amongst  these  niggers.  It  spoils  a  smart  boy  to 
bring  him  up  here  where  he  kin  git  a  nigger  to 
breathe  for  him  if  he  wants.  The  nigger  was  born 
to  work  an'  he  knows  it.  These  boys  understand 
jest  how  'tis  an'  they  are  goin'  ter  shirk  all  they  kin. 
You  notice  now  in  these  Southern  families,  an'  see  if 
it  ain't  jest  as  I  tell  ye.  The  girls  are  the  smartest 
every  time.  Nine  times  out  of  ten,  the  brains  an' 
the  '  git  up  '  of  the  family  will  be  found  right  in 
the  girls.  The  woman  of  the  next  Southern  genera- 
tion will  run  things.     Now  you  see.  if  that  ain't  so." 

"But  what  makes  'em  let  things  run  so  ter 
ruins?"  asked  John.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to 
understand  how  men  with  ordinary  common  sense 
could  live  as  most  of  the  people  were  evidently 
living. 

"They're  sorter  lazy,  an'  then  agin  they  all  wanter 
be  boss.  They  kin  all  talk  some  big  scheme  about 
doin'  things  in  a  hurry,  but  you  talk  to  'em  about 
usin'  a  lighter  hoe,  or  ploughin'  deeper,  an'  they  won't 


RUN  TO   RUINS  193 

listen  to  ye.  Some  like  the  story  I  heard  a  feller 
tell  once  about  General  Scott.  They  was  fightin'  the 
Mexicans,  an'  old  Scott  had  his  hands  about  full. 
Jest  when  the  fight  gut  hottest,  there  riz  up  a  cloud 
o'  dust  about  a  half  a  mile  back  of  Scott's  head- 
quarters. Nobody  knowed  what  'twas.  A  squad 
rode  back  to  look  things  up,  an'  when  they  come 
near  they  see  a  crowd  of  men  markin'  time  in  the 
road  — jest  kickin'  up  a  big  dust.  The  officer  called 
out  '  Who  are  ye  ?  '  One  man  stopped  markin'  time 
and  yelled  back, 'A  regiment  of  Kentucky  kernels 
come  to  reenforce  Scott ! '  There  warn't  a  private  in 
the  whole  crowd  —  nobody  to  obey  orders,  and  there 
they  stood  markin'  time." 

As  Colonel  Fair  finished  his  story,  and  before  he 
could  make  any  application,  a  horseman  came  riding 
slowly  in  at  the  gate.  He  directed  his  horse  up  the 
driveway,  and  when  within  a  short  distance  of  the 
house  stopped  and  held  up  several  letters  to  indicate 
that  he  had  brought  the  mail.  John  recognized  the 
horseman  at  once.  It  was  the  man  he  had  seen  at 
the  court-house  who  had  watched  the  pale  woman  in 
black  so  closely.  John  knew  he  had  seen  that  face 
before,  and  yet  he  could  not  tell  where.  He  was 
glad  to  follow  Colonel  Fair  down  to  the  fence.  He 
hoped  to  get  a  better  look  at  the  horseman.  He 
followed  so  closely  that  an  introduction  was  abso- 
lutely necessary. 

The  two  men  shook  hands  and  glanced  closely  at 
each  other.  The  name  of  Foster  brought  no  intel- 
ligence to  John.  He  knew  he  had  never  spoken 
with  the  man  before,  and  yet  there  was  something  in 


194  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

the  face  that  seemed  natural.  Jack  Foster  —  for  it 
was  surely  he  —  looked  down  into  John's  face  with 
a  puzzled  expression.  Where  had  he  seen  this  tall 
Yankee  before  ?  He  started  once,  as  if  about  to 
speak,  but  at  last,  after  a  few  commonplace  remarks, 
he  turned  his  horse  and  rode  slowly  back  to  the 
gate.  Half-way  down  the  road  he  turned  back  for 
another  look  at  John.  He  nodded  his  head  and 
closed  his  mouth  firmly,  while  a  bitter  look  crept 
over  his  face.  Every  movement  of  that  little  drama 
that  had  so  rudely  broken  his  life  had  been  burned 
deeply  into  his  memor3\  That  famine-stricken  face, 
looking  up  from  that  terrible  Andersonville,  rose  in 
his  mind  again.  He  knew  that  John  was  the  des- 
perate prisoner.  The  man  for  whose  sake  he  had 
killed  his  own  happiness  had  come  to  live  near  him. 

''  Maybe  he's  come  to  bring  me  good  luck,"  he 
muttered  grimly.  "  He  can't  bring  any  more  bad 
luck,  I  reckon." 

"There's  a  man  that  orter  make  a  good  neighbor 
if  somebody  could  only  stir  him  up  a  little,"  said 
Colonel  Fair,  as  Jack  Foster  rode  away.  "  They 
don't  like  him  fust-rate  'round  here.  They've  gut 
sometliin'  agin  him  that  dates  'way  back  to  the  war. 
He  done  somethin',  I  can't  make  out  jest  what  it  is, 
that  they  can't  never  git  over.  He  went  back  on  'em 
some  way.  He  ain't  no  coward,  for  I've  seen  him 
fight.  But  there's  somethin'  wrong  an'  they  don't 
trust  him.  He  won't  never  say  nothin'  about  it  to 
me.  He's  a  good  sharp  feller,  but  somehow  he  ain't 
gut  no  ambition  to  fix  up  his  place  au'  be  some- 
body." 


BUN  TO  KUINS  195 

As  John  started  back  to  work  at  his  own  planta- 
tion, Mrs.  Fair  came  and  invited  him  to  bring  Nellie 
and  stay  until  his  own  house  could  be  arranged. 
Colonel  Fair  seconded  the  invitation  so  heartily  that 
John  accepted  at  once.  He  rode  back  to  town,  stop- 
ping only  for  a  moment  at  the  plantation,  to  see  that 
the  work  of  cleaning  was  still  going  on.  It  was 
"going  on,"  but  so  slowly  that  he  saw  it  would 
never  be  finished  until  he  superintended  it  in  per- 
son. The  negroes  were  applying  the  hot  water  as 
tenderly  as  they  would  have  applied  it  to  their  own 
bodies.  It  is  wonderful  how  laziness  cultivates  pity. 
The  lazy  man  always  seems  to  feel  that  the  object 
upon  which  his  work  is  exerted  is  in  danger  of  being 
seriously  injured. 

John  rode  into  town  and  had  a  busy  afternoon. 
He  bought  a  pair  of  horses  and  a  wagon  and  such 
tools  as  he  needed  for  immediate  work.  The  little 
luggage  that  he  had  brought  from  New  England  was 
at  the  depot.  With  Nellie's  help  he  selected  enough 
furniture  to  furnish  a  few  rooms  of  the  great  house. 
John  was  glad  to  be  at  work  again.  He  worked 
with  an  energy  that  fairly  surprised  the  natives. 
The  men  who  sat  in  front  of  the  stores  watched  him 
with  sneers. 

"He  works  mighty  brash,  don't  he?"  they  mut- 
tered. ''He'll  git  over  that  afore  he's  ben  here 
long." 

John  gave  his  social  standing  a  staggering  blow 
before  he  went  home.  On  his  way  to  the  hotel  he 
stopped  at  the  village  well  for  a  drink  of  water.  An 
old,  white-haired  negro,  bent  and  twisted  with  age, 


196  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

came  hobbling  up  just  as  John  reached  the  well. 
The  old  fellow  caught  hold  of  the  rope  to  draw  the 
water.  He  was  pulling  feebly  at  the  heavy  weight 
when  John  took  the  rope  out  of  his  hands. 

"Let  me  pull  it,  uncle,"  he  said.  "I  s'pose  I've 
gut  more  muscle  than  you  have." 

Of  course  he  should  have  w^aited  and  made  the 
old  fellow  pull  the  weight  alone,  but  John  had  curi- 
ous notions  with  regard  to  gray  hairs.  He  pulled 
up  the  water  and  then  actually  filled  tlie  cup  and 
handed  it  to  the  old  negro  before  he  drank  himself. 
The  old  fellow  pulled  off  his  hat  in  his  great  pleasure 
at  this  compliment.  He  did  not  take  the  cup,  but 
motioned  John  to  drink  first.  When  John  walked 
up  the  street,  the  old  fellow  stood  watching  him 
with  admiring  eyes. 

After  supper  John  sat  on  the  piazza  and  told  his 
wife  and  little  Nellie  all  about  the  day's  adventures. 
Mr.  Battle  was  greatly  interested  in  the  story.  He 
followed  the  party  from  their  room,  and  questioned 
John  very  closely  with  regard  to  his  plans  and  the 
value  of  the  plantation. 

"  I  s'pose  you've  gut  quite  a  place  out  there,  ain't 
ye  ?  Must  be  worth  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  I 
expect." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  John,  cautiously.  He  was 
getting  a  little  tired  of  this  constant  questioning. 

"  Wal,  call  it  seventy-five  thousand  —  it  must  be 
worth  that,  I  s'pose  — ain't  it?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  John's  only  answer. 

"  Wal,  say  sixty  thousand  —  there  ain't  no  doubt 
about  that,  I  s'pose  ?  " 


EUN   TO   KUINS  197 

*'  I  don't  know  how  'tis." 

"  Wal,  say  fifty  thousand  —  it  can't  be  no  less 
than  that,  can  it  ?  " 

John  did  not  know,  and  Mr.  Battle  very  accommo- 
datingly reduced  the  price  to  twenty-five  thousand. 
This  had  no  better  effect,  and  at  last  he  changed  his 
tactics  a  little. 

"  I  s'pose  you're  somethin'  like  a  feller  that  lived 
in  our  town  a  number  o'  years  ago.  He  was  a  good, 
honest  feller,  but  somehow  or  nuther  he  didn't  seem 
to  git  along  fust-rate.  Folks  sorter  made  fun  of 
him.  He  couldn't  go  nowheres  but  he'd  be  the  fool 
of  the  crowd.  Gut  so  at  last  that  he  went  away,  an' 
folks  sorter  forgot  him.  After  a  year  or  so,  back  he 
come,  an'  I  tell  ye  folks  didn't  make  no  more  fun 
o'  him.  He'd  done  fust-rate  in  some  new  country, 
an'  I  s'pose  he  cud  buy  an'  sell  'em  all." 

Mr.  Battle  might  have  produced  other  facts  con- 
cerning his  friend,  had  not  the  sound  of  the  melo- 
deon  attracted  his  attention  at  this  moment.  He 
was  pulled  out  of  his  chair  by  the  music. 

"  Better  come  in  an'  sing,  hadn't  ye  ?  "  he  asked, 
as  he  rose  to  go. 

John  and  Nellie  excused  themselves.  They  were 
tired,  and  they  wished  to  talk  over  the  events  of  the 
day.  So  Mr.  Battle  went  alone.  In  a  short  time 
they  heard  his  bass  forming  a  strong  combination 
with  the  instrument.  They  were  glad  to  see  him 
go.     They  wished  to  talk  alone. 

John  and  Nellie  sat  and  talked  till  the  little  girl 
fell  asleep  on  her  mother's  lap.  Then  the  little  fam- 
ily went  to  their  room. 


198  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

"  Do  you  know,  John,"  said  Nellie,  as  they  stood 
watching  the  child  asleep,  "  that  I  feel,  somehow, 
that  we  are  going  to  meet  the  man  who  let  you  get 
those  flowers  in  that  prison  I  " 

"  And  I  believe  I've  seen  him  already,"  said  John, 
quickl}^  and  he  told  her  about  Jack  Foster  and  how 
he  knew  he  had  seen  the  man  before. 

"  What  if  it  should  be  him  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

"I  hope  it  is;  I  shall  be  very  glad,  for  I  want  to 
say  something  to  him." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  demanded  John. 

"  Oh,  you  must  wait  and  see,"  and  the  little 
woman  reached  up  to  kiss  her  husband. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  GERMS  OF   A  NEW  MANHOOD 

The  rest  of  the  week  was  packed  full  of  work  for 
John  and  Nellie.  There  was  more  to  be  done  than 
they  had  supposed.  After  looking  the  house  over 
carefully,  John  decided  to  make  some  extended  re- 
pairs. This  work  would  take  some  little  time,  and 
Nellie  decided  to  stay  with  Mrs.  Fair  rather  than  try 
and  occupy  the  house  before  it  could  be  finished. 
She  came  to  the  plantation  every  day  and  helped 
John  arrange  for  the  future.  John  worked  hard 
and  thoughtfully.  Acting  upon  Colonel  Fair's  ad- 
vice, he  determined  to  clear  out  half  the  negro 
cabins  and  turn  them  into  stables  or  shelters  for 
stock.  Most  of  the  negroes  were  working  ''on 
shares."  He  was  able  to  arrange  with  them  to 
leave  when  the  crops  should  be  gathered.  Load 
after  load  of  lumber  was  brought  out  from  town, 
and  John  worked  early  and  late  to  complete  his  ar- 
rangements for  stock-growing. 

Like  most  Northern  men,  John  made  a  mistake, 
at  first,  in  dealing  with  the  negroes.  He  was  too 
easy  with  them,  and  he  expected  them  to  do  or- 
dinary work  without  direction.  He  soon  found 
that  they  took  advantage  of  his  lack  of  firmness. 
They  became  so  familiar  that  he  was  obliged  to  be 

109 


200  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

very  strict  with  them  in  order  that  they  might  know 
their  place.  They  were  like  great  children  in  many 
things.  Careless  and  good-natured,  they  would 
laugh  and  sing,  or  lie  about  in  the  sun  and  play 
some  simple  game.  Well  superintended  and  kept  in 
good  spirits,  they  did  fair  w^ork,  but  the  great  ma- 
jority of  them  were  unable  to  plan  their  own  work 
to  any  advantage.  After  John  came  to  understand 
them,  he  got  on  better  with  his  work  than  he  did 
at  first.  He  found,  after  many  sore  trials,  that 
about  the  only  way  to  succeed  with  the  present  sys- 
tem of  negro  labor  is  to  give  the  negro  to  under- 
stand that  he  cannot  enter  the  white  man's  place. 
Such,  unfortunately,  is  the  present  idea.  There  are 
in  every  community  a  few  clear-headed  and  digni- 
fied negroes,  but  the  great  masses  of  black  workmen 
are  ignorant,  and  cannot  be  governed  as  one  would 
govern  men  of  intelligence. 

As  John  studied  the  matter,  this  question  came 
up  in  his  mind:  "What  shall  we  do  with  this  mass 
of  workmen  when  they  learn,  as  they  surely  will, 
something  of  the  dignity  of  manhood?"  It  will  be 
impossible  then  to  treat  them  as  they  are  treated 
now.  To  say  that  they  will  not  improve  and  grow 
out  of  tlieir  present  ignorance,  is  to  say  that  all 
history  is  a  lie.  Jolin  brought  himself  to  believe 
that  behind  the  negro's  mask  of  ignorance  and  care- 
lessness there  lie  the  germs  of  a  new  manhood  that 
will  surely  push  to  the  outside.  To  be  sure,  the 
most  of  his  negroes  were  lazy  and  careless.  They 
were  shockingly  immoral.  He  was  obliged  to  admit 
that  he  could  not  possibly  allow  them  to  eat  at  his 


THE  GERMS  OF   A  NEW  MANHOOD  201 

table,  or  appear  in  his  family,  except  as  servants. 
Yet  there  were  keen-minded  and  thoughtful  negroes. 
Even  his  careless  workmen,  when  they  thought  they 
had  his  entire  confidence,  showed  that  there  was  a 
little  something  of  sober  manhood  hidden  behind 
their  black  faces.  That  manhood  will  be  developed 
—  slowly,  it  may  be  imperceptibly — yet  it  will 
grow,  and  must,  in  time,  assert  itself. 

A  common  impression  prevails  at  the  North  that 
the  Southern  man  treats  the  negro  cruelly.  The  few 
old  cases  of  slave-whipping  or  starving  are  quoted  as 
being  fair  examples  of  the  way  in  which  the  negroes 
were  treated  before  the  war.  This  idea  is  not  a 
just  one.  The  Southern  man  aims  to  treat  the 
negro  kindly,  and  to  see  that  he  does  not  suffer. 
There  is  no  thought  of  a  possible  equality.  He  is 
simply  dealing  with  a  "  nigger,"  who  is  treated 
kindly  or  affectionately,  just  as  one  would  show 
affection  for  the  family  horse  or  the  family  cow. 

People  do  not  even  blame  the  negro  particularly 
for  the  part  he  took  in  the  "  Radical  "  government. 
The  blame  is  laid  upon  the  "  Radicals,"  who  organ- 
ized the  negroes,  and  supplied  the  brain  power  of  the 
movement.  The  negro  is  regarded  generally  as 
harmless  when  left  to  himself,  and  treated  as  a  valu- 
able animal  would  be  treated  —  kindly  but  firmly. 
He  was  simply  a  tool  in  the  hands  of  designing 
"  carpet-baggers."  There  was  no  particular  reason 
why  he  should  be  greatly  blamed  for  what  had 
taken  place.  When  we  consider  the  condition  of 
the  ordinary  negro,  and  the  course  of  treatment  that 
has  placed  him  in  his  present  position,  we  can  under- 


202  ANDERSON VILLE  VIOLETS 

stand  why  he  is  treated  as  he  is,  and  what  a  disgust 
fills  the  heart  of  the  Southern  man  or  woman  at  the 
bare  suggestion  of  living  on  terms  of  equality  with 
former  slaves. 

John  fought  through  the  war  with  the  belief  that 
the  sole  object  of  the  struggle  was  to  free  the  slaves. 
Such  was  the  real  object,  though  it  was  covered  for 
a  time  by  questions  of  political  economy.  John 
came  to  the  South  with  the  idea  firmly  fixed  in  his 
mind  that  all  the  negro  needed  to  make  him  a  good 
citizen  was  a  little  encouragement  and  practical 
example.  He  had  common  sense  enough  to  see» 
after  a  few  weeks,  that  Northern  arguments  and 
theories  would  not  w^ork  on  Southern  soil.  While 
the  Northern  theory  of  negro  advancement  and  in- 
telligence might  work  to  perfection  in  Pennsylvania 
or  New  York,  it  was  destined  to  make  a  complete 
and  ridiculous  failure  at  the  South  at  the  present 
day,  for  the  simple  reason  that  there  was  no  one  to 
help  the  negro  develop  himself.  He  must  do  the 
work  alone.  Surrounded  as  he  was  by  men  and  cir- 
cumstances so  directly  opposed  to  his  rapid  advance- 
ment in  intelligence  and  dignity,  it  was  absurd  to 
suppose  that  strange  men,  having  only  a  theorist's 
idea  of  his  nature  and  capabilities,  men  who  could 
not  even  command  the  entire  confidence  of  the  com- 
munities in  which  they  live,  could  deal  with  him 
as  they  would  have  dealt  with  ignorant  workmen  at 
home. 

As  matters  stand  to-day  —  with  the  brains,  the 
money,  and  the  majority  of  his  party  hundreds  of 
miles  away  from  him  —  the  negro   must  work  out 


THE  GERMS   OF   A   NEW   MANHOOD  203 

his  own  social  and  political  freedom.  He  can  do  it 
only  by  showing  himself  worthy  to  be  called  a  man. 
He  can  do  it  only  by  writing  a  man's  record  on  the 
pages  of  history.  It  will  be  a  long  and  heart-break- 
ing work,  but  the  work  will  only  develop  a  truer  and 
nobler  manhood.  The  white  man  can  assist  his 
black  neighbor  as  a  child  might  be  taught  —  not 
by  assuming  that  both  are  upon  an  equality,  but  by 
patient  yet  firm  teaching  —  better  yet  by  practical 
examples  of  industry  and  manhood. 

It  was  a  little  awkward  at  first  for  John  and 
Nellie  to  assume  the  roles  of  master  and  mistress. 
They  had  done  all  their  own  work  so  long  that  they 
hardly  knew,  at  first,  how  to  direct  the  labor  of 
so  many  childish  people.  No  doubt  they  made 
mistakes  at  first,  but  after  a  little  study  the 
mantle  of  authority  fell  easily  about  them,  and 
they  were  able  to  direct  the  work  with  dignity 
and  decision. 

The  first  day  that  Nellie  came  to  the  plantation, 
as  she  came  up  to  the  little  gate  before  the  house, 
an  old  negro  woman,  bent  and  wrinkled,  came  hob- 
bling down  from  the  steps.  The  poor  old  creature 
peered  with  her  dim  eyes  at  the  new-comers,  and 
turned  aside  into  the  grass  that  they  might  pass  her. 
Nellie  hurried  forward  to  open  the  gate.  She  stood 
beside  it,  and  smilingly  invited  the  old  woman  to 
pass  through  before  her.  Bowing  and  ducking  with 
pleasure,  the  old  creature  came  through.  She  paused 
to  peer  into  Nellie's  smiling  face. 

"  You  is  pooty,  honey  — I  'clare  you  is,"  she  said, 
as  she   dropped  a   courtesy   that   seemed  like   the 


204  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

starting  of  a  rusty  machine.  "  You  is  po'ful  pooty, 
you  is." 

Nellie  blushed  with  pleasure  at  this  direct  compli- 
ment, and  John  seemed  to  appreciate  it,  too.  The 
old  woman  started  mumbling  away  when  slie  caught 
a  look  at  John's  face.  She  stopped  and  held  one 
withered  hand  before  her  eyes,  that  she  might  exam- 
ine him  carefully.  She  raised  her  stick  and  pointed 
it  at  him  as  she  spoke,  slowly :  — 

"  I  know  youse  —  I  reckon  you  done  stop  at  de 
ole  cabin  in  Georgy  when  you  all  kill  dat  dorg." 

As  she  spoke,  a  tall  negro,  black  as  coal  and 
straight  as  an  arrow,  came  walking  past  the  cor- 
ner of  the  house.  The  old  woman  looked  at  him 
proudly. 

"  Dere's  Solermun,"  she  chuckled ;  "  I  reckon 
youse  'member  him,  sho'  'nuff." 

John  looked  earnestly  at  the  negro  for  a  mo- 
ment. The  black  man  stood  like  a  statue  before 
him. 

"  It  is  Sol,"  said  John,  as  he  sprang  forward  and 
held  out  his  hand.  It  was  the  black  soldier  who 
had  led  the  fugitives  through  the  woods  from  Ander- 
sonville.  A  gleam  of  pleasure  spread  over  the 
negro's  heavy  face.  He  took  off  his  hat  and  shook 
John's  hand  with  —  "  Howdy,  boss  ?  I's  po'ful  glad 
to  see  you,  boss  —  I  reckon  I  is,  sho'  'nuff." 

Sol  took  little  Nellie  and  raised  her  high  in  his 
strong  arms.  She  was  not  in  the  least  afraid  of 
him.  She  laughed  merrily,  and  when  he  settled  her 
upon  his  shoulder,  she  wound  her  little  arm  about 
his  woolly  head.     She  had  listened  to  the  story  of 


THE   GERMS   OF   A  NEW   MANHOOD  205 

Sol's  bravery  many  times.  To  her  cluldish  eyes  he 
was  not  simply  a  poor  "  nigger,"  but  a  man  who  had 
saved  her  dear  father's  life. 

''Did  you  help  my  papa  an'  Uncle  Nathan  when 
they  were  lost  in  the  woods  ?  "  she  asked,  pushing 
up  his  face  so  that  she  could  see  him. 

"  I  reckon  so,  honey,"  was  all  Sol  could  say. 

"  I  love  you,  then,"  —  and  the  dear  little  girl  bent 
down  and  touched  his  black  forehead  with  her  rose- 
bud mouth. 

"  I  love  you  "  —  the  words  sank  deep  into  the  soul 
of  that  black  man.  "  I  love  you  "  —  simple  words 
from  a  little  child  that  knew  nothing  of  the  great 
gulf  that  opened  between  her  race  and  the  man  she 
kissed.  "  I  love  you !  "  What  a  hopeless  love  it 
was,  and  yet  who  shall  say  that  these  simple  words 
were  thrown  away?  Who  can  say  that  they  may 
not  kindle  into  flame  a  spirit  of  chivalry  as  pure  as 
that  of  the  days  of  old  romance  ? 

Nellie  took  Sol's  great  hand  in  hers  and  thanked 
him  with  the  tenderness  that  belongs  to  such  a 
woman.  He  looked  at  her  curiously,  and  his  lips 
came  closely  together.  He  did  not  rub  his  head  and 
laugh,  as  most  negroes  would  have  done.  He  stood 
erect  and  firm  —  like  a  man.  The  old  negress  had 
been  watching  the  group  carefully.  She  tottered 
up  to  Sol's  side,  and  patted  his  arm  affectionately. 

''  You  is  a  good  boy,  Solermun.  I  done  tole  you 
dat  we's  sho'  to  come  out  all  right.  I  is  Solermun's 
mammy,"  she  added  to  the  rest.  "  Aunt  Jinny  dey 
calls  me  alius.  I  is  po'ful  glad  to  see  you  all,  bekase 
I  tinks  a  heap  ob  you  all  sence  my  ole  man  done  gib 
me  dat  little  flag." 


206  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

They  all  shook  hands  with  Aunt  Jinny,  much  to 
her  delight,  and  then  John  led  the  way  up  to  the 
house.  Sol  came  last,  carrying  little  Nellie  on  his 
shoulders.  John  brought  chairs  to  the  piazza  for 
the  company,  but  Sol  would  not  sit  down.  He  stood 
erect,  holding  his  hat  in  his  hand.  He  seemed  to 
feel  the  difference  between  himself  and  his  former 
comrade.  Aunt  Jinny  sat  on  the  upper  step  and 
took  little  Nellie  in  her  lap.  The  old  slave  crooned 
and  rocked  with  the  little  girl  until  the  latter  laughed 
out  in  glee. 

Sol  told  his  story  simply  and  with  few  words. 
He  went  back  to  the  old  plantation  after  the  surren- 
der, intending  to  settle  down  and  work  for  his 
parents.  He  did  not  lose  his  head,  as  many  of  the 
negroes  did  during  the  period  of  reconstruction.  He 
kept  honestly  at  work,  and  tried  to  keep  out  of  poli- 
tics. The  negroes  obtained  control  of  affairs,  and 
for  several  years  held  the  offices.  Then  came  the 
days,  or  rather  nights,  of  the  Ku  Klux.  Sol's  father, 
a  harmless  old  man,  who  had  no  weapon  but  a  loose 
tongue,  was  taken  from  his  house  and  whipped.  Sol 
came  upon  the  whipping  party  and  with  his  axe 
knocked  two  of  them  senseless.  His  father  died  and 
Sol  was  obliged  to  run  for  his  life.  After  a  month's 
absence  he  came  back  by  night  and  brought  his 
motlier  away. 

No  one  could  tell  how  the  two  had  wandered  all 
through  these  years.  Up  and  down  through  Ala- 
bama, through  Mississippi,  moving  on  aimlessly  from 
year  to  year.  They  would  work  through  one  crop 
and  then  wander  on  to  some  new  place.     It  is  hard 


THE   GERMS   OF   A   NEW   MANHOOD  207 

for  the  negro  to  build  a  new  home  without  help. 
Once  driven  from  his  old  home,  and  he  wanders 
about  aimlessly  unless  some  stronger  mind  can 
direct  him.  Sol  had  heard  that  a  Northern  man  had 
settled  in  the  neighborhood.  His  mother  had  urged 
him  to  come  and  apply  for  work.  The  old  woman 
had  a  reverence  for  Northern  soldiers,  that  nothing 
could  destroy.  So  Sol  had  come.  When  the  negro 
finished  his  story,  John  rose  and  shook  hands  with 
him  again. 

*'I  want  you  to  stay  here,  Sol,"  he  said;  *' you're 
jest  the  man  I  want  to  help  me." 

"  Tanky,  boss.  I'll  do  de  bes'  I  knows,"  said  Sol 
as  he  looked  anxiously  at  his  mother. 

Nellie  understood  him  at  once. 

"  She  must  stay  here  too,  Sol,"  she  said  quickly. 
"  We  will  make  her  comfortable  and  take  good  care  of 
her." 

Aunt  Jinny  looked  up  as  Nellie  spoke. 

"  You  is  mighty  pooty,  honey,  you  is,  sho'  'nuff.  I 
is  old  and  mighty  nigh  def,  I  reckon,  but  I  kin  work 
yit,  an'  I'll  take  car  ob  little  honey  de  bes'  I  kin." 

And  so  the  wanderers  found  a  home.  One  of  the 
cabins  was  repaired  and  Sol  and  his  mother  moved 
in  at  once.  In  their  great  gratitude  John  and  Nellie 
were  almost  ready  at  first  to  treat  the  negroes  as 
they  would  have  treated  white  people  ;  but  Sol  never 
stepped  out  of  what  he  deemed  to  be  his  place.  It 
was  only  in  private,  where  he  knew  he  had  John's 
confidence,  that  Sol  would  ever  drop  the  negro  and 
speak  and  think  like  a  man.  When  other  white  peo- 
ple were  about  he  was  only  a  respectful  servant. 


208  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

Colonel  Fair  called  Sol  a  "  likely  nigger." 
"You're  a  good  boy,  I  reckon,"  he  said.     "You 

wanter  behave  an'  keep  away  from  these  night  meet- 

in's.     Jest  keep  to  work  an'   keep  out  o'  politics. 

Such  fellers  as  you  be  never  gut  no  office,  did  ye  ?  " 
"  I  reckon  not,  boss,"  was  all  Sol  said.     There  was 

not  a  movement  of  his  heavy  face. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  ANDERSONVILLE    SENTINEL 

The  more  John  thought  about  Jack  Foster,  the 
more  thoroughly  he  convinced  himself  that  Jack  was 
the  sentinel  who  had  spared  his  life  at  Anderson- 
ville.  He  hardly  knew  what  to  do  in  the  matter  — 
whether  to  go  to  Jack  and  speak  at  once,  or  wait  till 
some  chance  should  open  a  conversation  on  the  sub- 
ject. He  decided  at  last  to  wait.  They  did  not  see 
Jack  again  until  the  next  Sunday,  when  they  spent 
the  day  with  Mrs.  Fair.  After  dinner  Colonel  Fair  and 
John  sat  on  the  piazza,  when  Jack  Foster  came  rid- 
ing slowly  from  town.  They  had  been  talking  about 
him  but  a  moment  before,  and  when  he  came  in  sight 
Colonel  Fair  hailed  and  beckoned  him  to  come  up  to 
the  house.  After  a  moment's  hesitation  he  turned 
his  horse  in  at  the  gate  and  rode  up  to  a  tree,  where 
he  dismounted.     Then  he  came  up  to  the  piazza. 

"  Come  in  and  have  dinner,"  said  Colonel  Fair. 
"  I  reckon  you're  hungry  after  your  ride." 

Jack  declined  this  invitation  — he  was  not  hungr}^ 
he  said.  Lucy's  pale  face  at  church  had  driven  all 
the  hunger  into  his  heart.  He  drew  a  chair  up  to 
the  others,  and  tilted  back  on  it  against  one  of  the 
pillars  of  the  piazza.  He  looked  at  John  keenly  for 
a  moment,  and  studied  his  face  carefully.     Then  his 

209 


210  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

eyes  turned  away  and  a  dark  look  passed  over  Lis 
face.  John  longed  to  thank  the  man  —  to  do  some- 
thing to  show  how  he  felt,  but  that  dark  look  forbade 
such  a  thing. 

The  three  men  talked  of  the  crops,  the  weather, 
and  general  agriculture,  until  at  last  they  drifted  in- 
to a  discussion  of  politics  and  the  general  condition 
of  the  country.  Colonel  Fair  was  pronounced  and 
bitter  in  his  denunciations  of  the  people.  Jack 
Foster  listened  attentively  and  at  times  answered 
some  statements  that  seemed  to  him  too  strong.  He 
talked  like  a  well  informed  man,  but  he  did  not  enter 
into  the  discussion  with  any  heart.  His  eyes  kept 
wandering  down  the  road  in  the  direction  of  the 
town.  There  was  a  longing  look  in  them  at  such 
times.  John  had  little  to  do  but  sit  and  listen  to 
the  others. 

"I  claim  —  as  I  always  have  claimed,"  argued 
Colonel  Fair,  "  that  this  is  a  mighty  good  country. 
I  reckon  there's  room  enough  here  for  a  heap  o* 
them  poor  folks  up  North,  but  they  can't  never  do 
nothin'  here  till  a  heap  o'  these  old  fellers  dies  off. 
There's  too  many  folks  up  there  that  care  more  for  a 
home  than  they  do  for  money.  That's  jest  the  kind 
o'  folks  this  country  needs,  an'  it's  jest  the  kind  o' 
folks  that  ain't  comin'  here,  because  they  can't  git 
no  society.  They  keep  on  goin'  out  West,  passin' 
by  this  beautiful  country,  till  it's  too  late  to  bring 
'em  here.  They've  gut  to  come  in  crowds  an'  settle 
in  colonies,  an'  if  they  do  that  they'll  have  a  fight  on 
their  hands  right  away.  They'll  rally  the  niggers 
jest  as  sure  as  you  live,  an'  if  they  do  that  you've 


THE  ANDEKSONVILLE  SENTINEL  211 

gut  to  do  jest  as  ye  did  along  back,  or  else  let  the 
niggers  have  a  show.     Now  ain't  that  so,  Foster?  " 

"I  reckon  a  heap  of  it  is,"  said  Jack  slowly,  "but 
I  don't  reckon  there's  any  way  of  helping  it. 
There's  a  heap  of  folks  here  in  this  country  that's 
lazy  and  don't  know  how  to  work.  They  are  too 
proud  to  learn  of  you  Yankees,  and  I  don't  reckon 
there  is  anybody  else  to  show  them  how.  If  you  all 
could  come  down  here  and  be  like  us,  and  not  stir 
up  our  niggers,  we  might  get  along  well  enough  after 
a  while.  If  a  man  comes  down  here  and  minds  his 
own  business  I  won't  say  a  word  against  him,  but  it's 
no  more  than  natural  that  I  should  remember  that  I 
was  whipped,  and  that  we  ju^t  ground  our  noses  in 
the  dust  for  ten  years.  Folks  judge  you  all  by  the 
men  that  came  down  here  after  the  war  and  ruined  our 
niggers.  I  know  there  are  good  men  at  the  North 
that  perhaps  ought  to  be  here.  We  need  them  —  I 
admit  that  —  but  I  haven't  got  much  heart  to  welcome 
them.  I  know  very  well  they  are  different  from  our 
folks,  and  I  don't  see  how  they  can  make  themselves 
feel  at  home.  It's  no  use  trying  to  get  people  in 
here  that  will  be  discontented  and  then  want  to 
quit.  If  I  should  go  up  into  your  country  and  say 
what  I  think  and  what  I  know  about  the  niggers, 
and  about  the  war,  I  don't  reckon  I  could  make  as 
many  friends  as  you  have  here." 

The  two  men  talked  on  in  this  strain  for  some 
time.  John  could  not  help  seeing  how  little  they 
had  in  common  after  all.  There  could  be  but  little 
confidence  or  concert  of  action  between  two  such 
men. 


212  ANDERSON VILLE  VIOLETS 

There  was  something  about  Jack  Foster's  manner 
that  repelled  John.  There  was  no  chance  to  say  the 
words  he  longed  to  say.  Jack  rose  at  last  to  take 
his  leave.  The  conversation  had  drifted  into  a  dis- 
cussion of  the  real  ideas  that  held  Northern  and 
Southern  men  apart.  John  never  forgot  the  last 
words  of  this  discussion.  Jack  stood  with  his  foot 
on  the   upper  step  as  he  said  slowly :  — 

"  I  did  a  thing  for  a  Yankee  soldier  once  that  I 
don't  reckon  I  could  do  again.  It  saved  him,  but  I 
reckon  it  about  ruined  me." 

He  looked  directly  at  John  as  he  spoke.  His 
voice  was  hard,  and  there  was  a  bitter  look  on  his 
face.  As  he  turned  to  pass  down  the  steps,  Mrs. 
Fair  and  Nellie  with  the  little  girl  came  from  the 
hall.  Jack  was  introduced  to  the  ladies.  He  almost 
started  at  the  sight  of  Nellie.  How  much  like  the 
"little  babe"  she  looked.  He  glanced  at  John  un- 
easily, and  after  a  few  words  took  leave  of  the  party. 
Mounting  his  horse,  he  rode  slowly  down  to  the  road, 
with  his  head  hanging  on  his  breast. 

This  little  golden-haired  woman,  he  thought,  must 
have  been  the  sister  of  that  sick  boy  at  Anderson- 
ville.  Suppose  he  had  shot  this  Yankee,  what  would 
she  have  done  ?  And  then  the  thought  of  the  long 
years  of  suffering  and  of  Lucy's  scorn  pushed  the 
better  feelings  out  of  his  heart.  It  seemed  hard  to 
think  that  this  man  was  living  so  happily,  while  he, 
who  had  spared  the  life  on  which  so  much  happiness 
depended,  was  so  miserable. 

John  told  Nellie  all  about  what  Jack  had  said  to 
him.     The  little  woman  was  much  concerned  over 


THE   ANDERSON VILLE   SENTINEL  213 

the  matter.  She  was  anxious  to  show  her  gratitude 
to  Jack,  and  jet  she  could  not  tell  how  to  do  it. 
They  felt  so  awkward  and  strange  in  their  new 
position,  and  there  seemed  to  be  something  about 
Jack  Foster  that  made  it  impossible  for  them  to 
approach  him.  It  was  evident  tliat  he  recognized 
John,  but  it  was  yet  more  evident  that  there  was 
something  so  very  unpleasant  about  the  matter  that 
he  would  not  speak  of  it,  or  willingly  give  them  an 
opportunity  of  telling  him  what  they  wished  to  tell 
him. 

Just  as  the  new  life  began  to  settle  into  its  regu- 
lar groove,  a  terrible  feeling  of  homesickness  came 
to  John  and  Nellie.  The  excitement  of  preparation, 
and  the  novelty  of  the  new  life,  had  kept  their 
thoughts  away  from  their  real  condition  for  a  time, 
but  at  last  they  were  brought  face  to  face  with  it. 
They  longed  with  a  terrible  heart-hunger  for  the  old 
familiar  faces — for  a  glimpse  of  the  old  home. 
Their  great  house  seemed  desolate  with  no  friends  to 
share  it  with  them.  They  had  no  one  to  take  into 
their  confidence.  People  seemed  to  view  them  with 
suspicion.  Every  face  seemed  ready  to  curl  itself  up 
into  a  sneer. 

John  and  Nellie  fought  hard  and  bravely  against 
this  homesickness.  They  had  set  their  faces  to  the 
task,  and  they  would  not  turn  back  now,  though  the 
work  was  harder  than  they  had  expected.  They  did 
their  best  to  comfort  each  other,  yet  there  were 
times  when  it  seemed  as  if  they  could  not  stand  the 
awful  longing  for  home.  Night  after  night  they 
would  stand  and  watch   the   little  girl  as  she  lay 


214  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

asleep,  and  then  their  hearts  would  grow  stronger  as 
they  thought  how  their  work  was  all  for  her.  Little 
Nellie  cried  sometimes  for  the  old  people  at  home, 
but  her  grief  was  short-lived.  There  were  so  many 
new  and  pretty  things  to  take  up  her  mind.  She 
became  greatly  attached  to  Aunt  Jinny,  who  followed 
lier  about  and  told  her  strange  stories  that  pulled  the 
blue  eyes  open  in  wonder. 

There  were  very  few  visitors.  Colonel  Fair  and 
his  wife  came  over  frequently,  but  the  other  neigh- 
bors made  but  one  visit.  John  did  his  best  to  get 
acquainted  with  those  who  lived  near  him,  but  there 
was  something,  he  could  not  understand  what,  that 
kept  him  from  talking  to  them  as  he  could  talk  to 
the  neighbors  at  home. 

Their  first  entertainment  of  visitors  was  not  a 
complete  success.  They  were  both  at  work  one 
day,  Nellie  in  the  house,  and  John  at  the  new  barn, 
when  a  carriage  rolled  up  to  the  gate.  This  vehicle 
was  a  trifle  rusty  and  decayed,  but  it  bounded  up 
and  down  on  its  old-fashioned  springs,  as  if  deter- 
mined to  keep  up  its  share  of  the  family  pride.  The 
two  worn  old  mules  were  driven  by  a  negro,  who 
opened  the  door  with  a  tremendous  flourish.  A 
stately  old  lady  stepped  from  the  carriage  and 
advanced  toward  the  house.  She  held  an  eye- 
glass haughtily  to  her  eye,  and  glanced  over  the 
smooth  lawn  and  the  painted  house  with  curious 
interest. 

Nellie  saw  the  carriage  stop,  and  hastened  to  re- 
ceive her  visitor.  She  hastily  dried  her  hands,  and 
took  off  her  apron.     She  sent  little  Nellie  out  to 


THE    ANIXERSONVILLE   SENTINEL  215 

bring  John  in,  and  then  went  forward  just  as  the 
lady's  card  was  brought  out  by  Aunt  Jinny.  When 
John  came  in,  he  found  his  wife  sitting  uneasily  in 
her  chair,  with  the  old  lady  examining  her  critically. 
John  did  not  add  much  dignity  to  the  household. 
He  wore  his  old  working  dress,  and  his  clothes  were 
covered  in  places  with  sawdust.  The  end  of  a  car- 
penter's rule  peeped  curiously  out  from  his  breast 
pocket.  Little  Nellie  had  done  her  best  to  brush 
his  coat,  but  her  hand  was  small  and  she  bad  not 
succeeded  as  well  as  one  could  wish.  John  knew 
that  he  had  entertained  visitors  at  home  in  a  much 
worse  suit  of  clothes. 

The  old  lady  made  a  very  short  call.  She  was 
very  polite,  but  the  young  people  could  easily  see 
that  she  was  horrified  at  their  appearance.  She 
went  away  at  last,  much  to  Nellie's  relief.  John 
rubbed  his  head  ruefully,  as  he  saw  the  old  carriage 
roll  down  the  road.  They  had  done  their  best,  but 
they  felt  after  all  that  they  were  only  plain  country 
people.  This  was  the  only  call  they  received  for  a 
long  time.  People  seemed  to  have  decided  to  let 
them  entirely  alone.  Colonel  Fair  laughed,  when  he 
heard  of  this  adventure. 

"  Don't  worry  about  that,"  he  said ;  "  they'll  all 
come  round  in  a  year's  time  —  jest  as  soon  as  ye 
make  a  mark  on  your  plantation.  Then,  ye  can  pick 
and  choose  yer  company.  I  don't  know  but  you'll 
be  something  like  me,"  he  added,  slowly;  "I've 
ben  here  some  years,  an'  I've  picked  up  mighty  few 
of  'em  yet." 

But  John  did  not  wish  to  live  as  Colonel  Fair  was 


216  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

living.     He  wanted  to  be  on  good  terms  with  all  his 

neighbors. 

John's  farm  operations  opened  most  successfully. 
He  bought  a  mowing  machine  at  once,  and  drove  the 
shovel-and-wheelbarrow  method  of  haymaking  into  a 
permanent  retirement.  He  bought  a  small  herd  of 
cows,  and  a  few  sheep  and  hogs.  He  determined  to 
plough  up  the  old  cotton  fields  and  get  them  into 
pastures  as  quickly  as  possible.  Sol  was  of  great 
help  in, this  work.  He  seemed  to  have  a  white  man's 
head  with  a  negro's  strength  and  endurance.  John 
was  soon  able  to  trust  much  of  the  rouglier  work  to 
Sol's  judgment. 

John  had  something  to  sell  from  his  place  in  a 
very  short  time.  Nellie's  butter  had  been  famous 
at  home,  and  she  determined  to  gain  a  like  fame  at 
Sharpsburg.  John  took  a  package  of  delicious  golden 
rolls  into  the  town,  to  see  what  market  could  be  se- 
cured. After  much  bargaining,  he  sold  his  load  to 
one  of  the  Jews,  who  promised  to  take  all  tliat  could 
be  made. 

"  I  knows  a  good  ting  ven  I  sees  dot  —  dot  vas  von 
of  de  segrets  of  my  peesness,"  the  Jew  said,  rubbing 
his  fat  hands  together,  and  nodding  his  head  at  John. 
"  Dere  is  too  much  of  this  cotton-seed  butter  in  dis 
goundry.  Dey  feeds  de  cows  on  de  cotton-seed,  an' 
dot  chust  won't  melt  in  your  mout  wid  dot  dellegate 
flavor  dot  is  de  life  of  good  butter.  De  butter  pees- 
ness in  dis  goundr}'  vas  chust  like  all  oders.  Dere  is 
no  system  und  no  push  in  dese  men.  People  say  dot 
dey  can't  find  out  how  dese  Jews  vas  suckseed  chust 
like  dey  does.     It  is  chust  good  peesness  manage- 


THE  ANDERSONVILLE   SENTINEL  217 

ment — clot's  cliust  how  it  vas.  Ve  vorks,  iind  dey 
sleeps.  Ve  manages,  und  dey  let  tings  go  mitout 
any  system." 

At  this  moment,  the  Jew  was  called  off  by  a  cus- 
tomer. He  went  behind  the  counter  to  give  a  prac- 
tical example  of  his  "  peesness  ability."  A  tall  man 
had  been  listening  to  the  conversation. 

"  I  reckon  a  heap  of  what  he  says  is  true,"  he  said, 
as  John  passed  him.  "  Them  Jews  is  jest  suckin' 
this  country  like  an  orange.  They  come  down  here 
an'  sell  goods  so  cheap  that  they  drive  white  people 
out  of  business.  They  can  live  on  nothin',  I  reckon. 
They  don't  never  pay  no  taxes,  scarsely.  They  keep 
all  their  money  in  cash,  and  they  ain't  gut  no  idee  of 
building  up  the  country  at  all.  They  hurt  our  nig- 
gers bad,  I  reckon.  A  Jew  will  put  his  arm  around 
a  nigger's  neck,  for  the  sake  of  sellin'  him  a  nickel's 
worth  of  goods.  They  sell  their  goods  and  make 
money,  because  they  know  how  to  manage." 

By  this  time,  the  Jew  had  finished  his  business. 
He  came  back,  smiling  at  the  bargain  he  had  just 
made,  and  the  tall  man  moved  away.  The  Jew 
seemed  to  have  marked  John  out  as  a  profitable  man 
to  cultivate. 

"You  vas  goin'  do  de  speakin'?"  he  asked,  as  he 
moved  his  fat  hand  in  the  direction  of  the  court- 
house. 

John's  eye  followed  the  gesture,  and  noticed  a 
crowd  of  negroes  and  a  few  white  men  gathered 
about  the  court-house. 

"  Dere  is  some  speakin'  over  dere,"  announced  the 
Jew,  noticing  John's   questioning   look.     "I  vas  a 


218  ANDERSON VILLE  VIOLETS 

Demograt,  of  course,"  he  remarked,  complacently, 
seeming  to  imply  that  it  would  show  very  poor 
"peesness  management"  to  be  anything  else.  "I 
vas  a  Demograt,  but  I  likes  to  see  fair  play  all  de 
vile.  I  drades  mit  dose  Republicans,  an'  always 
dreats  dem  chust  de  same.  If  you  go  to  dot  speak- 
in',  you  vill  find  blenty  of  fair  blay.  Eferybody 
has  a  good  chance  to  say  chust  wliat  dey  pleases. 
Now,  chust  look  here  vonce."  A  sudden  idea 
seemed  to  seize  him.  He  drew  John  to  one  corner 
of  the  store,  and,  after  looking  carefully  about, 
whispered :  — 

"  You  vas  a  Northern  man,  so  I  dells  you  somedink. 
I  gives  you  von  or  dree  boints.  You  chust  hang 
right  onto  your  broperty  in  dis  coundry  chust  as 
close  as  you  can.  Don't  you  get  discouraged.  De 
time  is  coming  when  all  dese  lazy  people  must  all 
git  avay.  Dere  is  blendy  of  dese  farms  dot  is  mort- 
gaged, and  de  capital  dot  holds  dem  is  from  de 
North.  Northern  men  will  never  buy  land  unless 
dey  means  to  improve  it.  Den  de  niggers  begins  to 
see  dat  dey  must  vork  for  demselves." 

The  Jew  would  have  said  more,  but  at  this  mo- 
ment a  small  wave  of  custom  rolled  into  the  store, 
and  floated  the  proprietor  away.  John  walked  out 
on  the  street,  and  stood  for  a  moment  watching  the 
crowd  by  the  court-house.  He  had  a  strong  desire 
to  pass  over  and  see  for  himself  how  the  political 
meeting  was  being  conducted.  At  home  he  would 
have  cared  nothing  about  it ;  but  here  he  was  begin- 
ning to  be  deeply  interested. 

"  Who's  speakin'  over  yunder  ?  "  he  asked  of  liis 


THE   ANDERSONVILLE   SENTINEL  219 

friend,  tlie  tall  man,  who  stood  leaning  against  the 
building. 

"  There's  a  heap  of  'em,"  was  the  answer.  **  Two 
Radicals  an'  some  good  Democrats.  They  always 
give  everybody  a  fair  hack  —  jest  go  over  an'  see  if 
that  ain't  so." 

Thus  urged,  John  walked  across  the  street  and 
into  the  court-house.  A  large  crowd  had  gathered 
to  listen  to  the  discussion.  They  were  mostly  white 
men,  who  sat  solemnly  on  the  rough  benches  and 
listened  with  sober  politeness.  A  few  negroes  sat 
on  the  back  seats,  and  as  many  more  peered  in  at 
the  windows  and  doors.  The  speakers  sat  in  a  row 
behind  the  bar,  while  in  front  of  them  sat  the  pre- 
siding officer  —  a  short  gentleman,  with  a  red  face 
and  long,  white  beard. 

As  John  entered,  one  of  the  speakers  was  just 
taking  his  seat.  The  audience  applauded  in  what 
seemed  to  John  a  spiritless  way.  The  men  stamped 
their  feet,  and  gave  a  series  of  cat-calls  and  yells. 
John  found  a  vacant  place  on  one  of  the  front 
benches.  As  he  took  his  seat,  a  man  rose  from  the 
line  of  speakers  and  came  dov/n  to  the  rail.  There 
was  no  effort  at  applause.  The  white  people  looked 
at  the  speaker  with  scowling  faces,  while  the  negroes 
bent  forward  to  listen  carefully. 

The  speaker  deposited  a  package  of  papers  on  a 
little  desk,  and  then  put  on  a  pair  of  spectacles  and 
looked  calmly  over  the  audience.  His  scrutiny 
ended,  he  removed  the  spectacles  and  placed  them 
on  the  desk  by  the  papers.  He  was  a  tall,  deter- 
mined-looking man.     His  mouth  closed  firmly,  and 


220  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

his  eyes  were  covered  with  great,  shaggy,  gray  eye- 
brows. He  did  not  show  the  slightest  fear  or  hesi- 
tation. He  announced  himself  as  a  Republican,  and 
went  on  to  state  his  reasons  for  being  one. 

*'  I  carried  a  gun  all  through  the  war,"  he  said, 
"  an'  done  my  best  for  the  South.  I  was  an  almighty 
big  fool  to  fight  the  last  two  years,  I  reckon.  We 
was  whipped,  an'  we  knowed  it.  When  the  war 
was  over,  I  made  up  my  mind  I'd  wait  an'  sorter  see 
what  was  comin'.  We  all  know  what  we  expected. 
What  did  General  Grant  say?  He  said,  *  Let  every 
man  have  his  boss  an'  mule  to  go  home  an'  make 
him  a  crop.'  I  reckon  there  ain't  nobody  could  have 
said  more  than  that.  I  says,  '  That's  good  enough 
fer  me,  I  reckon.' 

*'  I  tuck  my  mule  an'  made  me  a  crop  in  North 
Car'liny,  an'  then  I  worked  on  yer  to  Mississippi. 
I  married  one  of  the  loveliest  of  Mississippi's  daugh- 
ters,  an'  yer  I've  been  ever  sence.  I  says,  we're 
whipped — the  other  side's  on  top,  an'  they're  gon- 
ter  have  the  call.  It  ain't  no  use  ter  buck  agin  'em, 
for  we  had  ter  give  it  up  an'  take  our  lickin'.  So  I 
says,  let's  all  turn  in  agin  an'  sorter  straighten 
things  out.  General  Grant,  he  spoke  mighty  fair, 
an'  I  says,  that's  good  enough  fer  me,  I  reckon.  I 
come  out  an'  joined  the  Republican  party.  I've 
been  thar  ever  sence,  an'  I  reckon  I'll  stay  there  fer 
good." 

There  was  no  sign  of  applause  at  this  bold  an- 
nouncement. The  white  men  sat  in  grim  silence, 
and  the  negroes  nudged  each  other,  though  their 
faces   never  moved   a   muscle.     One    rough-looking 


THE  ANDERSOKVILLE    SENTINEL  221 

man  on  the  seat  in  front  of  John  shook  his  head  in  a 
satisfied  manner,  and  bent  forward  to  listen  more 
carefully  as  the  speaker  went  on. 

''  There  was  a  heap  of  men,  as  you  all  know,  that 
said  they  never  would  surrender.  They  went  off  to 
Mexico,  an'  Europe,  an'  all  these  other  places,  an'  it 
warn't  long  before  they  had  ter  send  home  for  help. 
What  did  General  Grant  do?  He  sent  a  ship  all 
'round,  an'  picked  'em  up  an'  brought  'em  home.  I 
reckon  we'd  'a'  ben  better  off  to-day  if  a  heap  of  'em 
had  kep'  away.  But  come  down  in  a  little  closter 
an'  see  Avliat  the  Republican  party  done.  We  give 
ye  yer  free  schools,  we  built  up  yer  buildin's,  an'  we 
give  ye  a  start  all  along.  That  didn't  satisfy  ye. 
What  did  ye  do  ?  You  killed  niggers  an'  stuffed 
ballot  boxes  till  ye  gut  things  back  where  they 
started  from.  But  it  didn't  do  yer  nigh  ser  much 
good  as  ye  thought  it  would.  It  was  just  like  a  dog 
gittin'  a  taste  of  a  sheep.  You  stuffed  folks  m,  and 
I'm  dosfored  ef  ye  didn't  learn  the  trick  of  stuffin' 
folks  out  agin.  It's  a  mighty  poor  rule  that  won't 
work  two  ways,  I  reckon." 

Here  the  speaker  produced  his  package  of  news- 
papers. He  read  a  series  of  wordy  articles,  in  which 
the  State  administration  was  most  violently  attacked. 
''  The  most  corrupt  administration  ever  known,"  "a 
despotic  ring  power,"  and  other  violent  epithets 
were  used  in  abundance.  ''  That's  the  way  some  of 
your  Democratic  friends  talk,"  said  the  speaker,  as 
he  laid  down  liis  spectacles. 

"Now,  I  ain't  no  nigger.  I'm  a  white  man,  I  be. 
I  fit  as  hard  as  any  of  ye  till  I  gut  licked,  an'  then  I 


222  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

quit,  ril  be  dogged  if  I  don't  hate  to  see  ye  hangin* 
'way  back  yonder.  Why  don't  ye  come  out  of  yer 
shell  an'  be  somebody  ?  You  go  up  where  the  Re- 
publicans is  an'  you'll  find  that  they've  got  all  the 
big  men  an'  all  the  likely  fellers  in  the  country. 
Why  don't  ye  jine  hands  with  the  best  men  up  thar, 
and  git  some  help  in  buildin'  up  this  country? 

"  It  needs  help,  1  reckon.  You  can  buy  land  here 
fer  a  song.  Bad's  I  kin  sing  I  cud  git  sum  fer  a 
solo.  The  same  land  up  in  the  North  would  be 
worth  ten  times  as  much.  There  ain't  no  folks 
corain'  in  yer,  but  there's  a  heap  of  'em  goin'  out. 
All  yer  likely  young  men  are  startin'  out  fer  Texas 
—  ain't  that  so  ?  What's  the  matter  with  this  coun- 
try ?  You  folks  have  give  it  such  a  name  that  peo- 
ple don't  dare  to  come  here.  That's  jest  the  size  of 
it,  an'  you  know  it." 

The  rough-looking  man  in  front  of  John  brought 
his  great  foot  down  on  the  floor  with  a  stamp  of 
approval.  There  was  no  other  applause.  A  little 
Jew,  encouraged  by  the  stamp  of  the  foot  to  make 
an  effort  to  secure  the  Republican  trade,  started  to 
clap  his  hands,  but  he  seemed  to  realize  the  lone- 
someness  of  his  position  in  time,  for  the  hands  never 
came  together.  The  white  men  bent  looks  of  the 
fiercest  hate  upon  the  speaker,  while  the  negroes 
never  moved. 

"  Another  point  I'm  goin'  to  talk  about  is,  where 
the  Republican  party  stands  on  protection.  I'm  gon- 
ter  make  it  so  clear,  that  I  reckon  even  a  way-down, 
back-country  farmer  can  understand  it.  You  put  up 
a  cotton  factory  in  this  town,  an'  I'll  guarantee  that 


THE    ANDERSONVILLE    SENTINEL  223 

your  farmers  will  build  up  a  home  market  for  all  the 
pertaters  an'  fruit  an'  such  like  they  cud  raise.  We 
want  a  cash  business  in  this  country,  an'  there  ain't 
no  way  to  git  it,  until  we  git  up  a  new  market." 

We  cannot  follow  the  speaker  all  through  his  talk. 
I  have  given  enough  of  his  exact  words  to  illustrate 
his  arguments  and  mode  of  expression.  He  spoke 
fearlessly  and  forcibly  for  about  an  hour,  and  then 
took  his  seat.  There  was  not  a  murmur  of  applause. 
A  look  of  relief  seemed  to  come  over  the  faces  of 
the  white  men.  They  seemed  glad  that  a  disagreea- 
ble duty  had  been  performed.  They  had  listened  to 
these  words  to  show  that  they  were  perfectly  ready 
to  allow  "  fair  play." 

The  next  speaker  was  a  tall,  elegant  gentleman, 
who  rose  with  much  dignity  from  his  seat,  and  came 
down  to  the  rail.  He  was  greeted  with  loud  ap- 
plause. The  white  men  struck  the  floor  with  their 
feet,  and  yelled  loudly  as  he  bowed  to  them.  He 
had  the  sympathy  of  his  audience  from  the  very  first 
sentence. 

"  I  deny  the  right  of  this  man  who  has  just  taken 
his  seat,  or,  in  fact,  the  right  of  any  Republican,  to 
speak  words  of  advice  to  the  white  people  of  Mis- 
sissippi. Don't  you  remember,  gentlemen,  how,  but 
a  few  years  ago,  these  very  men,  wuth  their  army  of 
ignorant  plunderers,  had  the  intelligent  white  men 
of  this  country  down  on  their  very  backs,  with  a 
death  grip  on  their  throats  ?  Don't  you  remember, 
gentlemen,  those  dark  days  when  we  hung  our  heads 
in  shame  before  our  ladies,  for  allowing  this  crime  to 
remain  unpunished?     You  cannot  forget  it.     It  is 


224  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

burned  into  the  heart  of  every  Southern  man.  It  is 
a  dishonor  that  galls  our  very  souls  with  its  remem- 
brance. Will  you  ever  follow  the  advice  of  one  who 
turned  his  back  upon  his  bleeding  country  in  her 
hour  of  need,  who  helped  to  fasten  this  chain  upon 
us,  and  who  now  comes  before  you  as  an  office- 
holder —  a  blood-sucker  —  pleading  only  for  more  of 
your  life  ?  " 

A  mighty  chorus  of  "never"  demonstrated  the 
feeling  of  the  audience.  The  speaker  might  have 
spared  himself  all  further  talk.  As  it  was,  he  spoke 
on  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  and,  to  John's  mind,  sim- 
ply repeated  his  opening  sentences  over  and  over 
again.  John  was  anxious  to  stay  and  hear  what  the 
Republican  speaker  Avould  have  to  say  in  reply,  but 
he  knew  that  Nellie  would  be  anxious  if  he  waited, 
so,  after  listening  to  an  hour  of  this  oration,  he  went 
away  to  try  and  digest  a  few  of  the  theories  that 
had  been  advanced  so  liberally. 

He  collected  his  load  as  rapidly  as  possible,  and  at 
last  rode  out  of  town  towards  home.  About  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  out  of  the  village,  he  came  upon  a  foot- 
passenger,  whom  he  recognized  as  the  rough-looking 
man  who  had  occupied  the  seat  in  front  of  him  at 
the  court-house.  John  stopped  his  horses  and  invited 
the  pedestrian  to  ride  with  him.  The  man  glanced 
curiously  at  John  for  a  moment,  and  then,  without 
a  word,  stepped  into  the  wagon. 

"You're  a  Northern  man,  I  reckon,"  he  said,  after 
a  moment's  pause. 

*'  I  s'pose  I  be,"  said  John  cautiously. 

"  How'd  ye  like  that  speakin'  ?  "     The  man  had  a 


THE   ANDERSON VILLE   SENTINEL  225 

rough,  hard  voice,  that  was  as  unpolished  as  his 
face. 

"  Wall,  I  s'pose  I've  heard  better,"  said  John,  who 
did  not  care  to  commit  himself. 

"  I  reckon  so.  Speakin'  don't  do  no  good  down 
here,  I  reckon.  Folks  sorter  goes  through  all  the 
motions  so  they  can  keep  a  good  holt  on  the  offices. 
Old  Byrox  talked  pretty  brash  there  to-day,  but  it 
don't  do  no  good.  We  uster  have  speakin'  here  that 
tore  things  all  up,  but  it's  all  one  way,  now." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  down  here  ? "  asked 
John. 

"  I  come  down  here  right  after  the  war.  I  went 
out  on  a  cotton  plantation  an'  made  two  or  three 
crops,  an'  then  I  moved  in  here.  We  had  big 
pickin's  then.  I  built  a  court-house  over  in  the 
next  county.  Charged  'em  my  own  price  for  the 
work.  They  hed  a  lot  o'  niggers  on  the  board  of 
supervisors,  and  they  done  everything  I  said. 
Mighty  lively  times  them  was,  an'  money  was  plenty. 
But  I'll  have  to  leave  ye  here.  I  left  my  horse  here 
when  I  come  in." 

John  stopped  the  horse  before  a  little  white  house, 
and  his  new  friend  jumped  out.  The  two  men  shook 
hands,  and  John  started  on  toward  home  again.  If 
the  talk  of  the  afternoon  had  gone  to  show  him  how 
far  he  was  from  the  people,  events  had  been  trans- 
piring at  home  that  promised  to  bring  him  closer 
than  ever  to  one  of  his  neighbors.  As  he  turned  in  at 
the  gate,  he  saw  Jack  Foster  sitting  on  the  piazza, 
holding  little  Nellie  on  his  knee. 

This  sight   was    enough    to    make    John  stop  his 


226  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

horses  in  surprise.  There  could  be  no  doubt  about 
it.  It  was  surely  Jack  Foster.  As  little  Nellie  saw 
her  father,  she  ran  down  to  meet  him,  while  Jack 
Foster  turned  to  his  former  prisoner  with  a  curious 
expression  on  his  face. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

BOB   GLENN   WANTS   HIS   PAY 

The  first  trouble  John  had  with  his  neighbors  was 
caused  by  a  dog.  The  dog  is  a  perfectly  harmless 
animal  so  long  as  lie  is  left  to  prey  upon  his  own 
species,  but  when  he  comes  in  contact  with  live 
mutton  he  often  causes  much  trouble.  John  bought 
a  small  flock  of  sheep  just  after  coming  to  the  plan- 
tation. They  had  always  kept  sheep  at  home,  and 
John  believed  these  woolly  servants  to  be  the  most 
perfect  farm  scavengers  known.  There  were  but 
few  other  sheep  in  the  neighborhood  that  he  could 
find.  Even  Colonel  Fair  shook  his  head  at  John's 
purchase. 

"Too  many  dogs  here,"  he  said.  '' Every  nigger 
and  every  poor  white  man  has  got  a  dozen  curs 
hangin'  'round.  You'll  have  ter  w*atch  them  sheep 
all  the  time.  There  ain't  nothin'  but  a  good  charge 
of  shot  that'll  ever  cure  a  dog  of  sheep-killin'.  The  law 
allows  ye  to  kill  all  dogs  found  huntin'  round  a  flock  o' 
sheep.  Jest  kill  a  dozen  or  so,  an'  they'll  all  keep 
clear  of  ye." 

A  few  days  after  this  talk,  one  of  the  best  sheep 
was  found  dead  in  the  pasture.  A  big,  gray  dog  had 
been  seen  prowling  about.  John  gave  Sol  instruc- 
tions to  shoot  all  dogs  found  on  the  place,  and  so 

227 


228  AlCDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

well  was  this  order  heeded  that  the  next  day  the 
gray  dog  lay  dead  in  the  pasture.  He  had  been 
caught  in  the  very  act  of  chasing  sheep. 

Nothing  more  was  thought  of  the  affair  until  the 
next  day,  when  a  most  unwelcome  visitor  came  walk- 
ing in  from  the  road  —  a  long,  lanky,  beardless 
''poor  white."  He  walked  up  to  the  little  gate  in 
front  of  the  house,  and  there  stopped  to  lean  lazily 
upon  his  gun  while  he  surveyed  the  premises.  His 
colorless  clothes  were  ragged  and  limp.  There  was 
nothing  but  a  cruel  slit,  stained  with  tobacco  juice, 
and  a  pair  of  little,  fishy  eyes  that  gave  any  charac- 
ter to  his  face.  Sol  was  at  work  near  the  corner  of 
the  house.  The  new-comer  watched  the  negro  for 
a  moment,  and  then  called,  in  a  thin,  rasping  voice  : 

"Look  yer,  nigger,  call  out  yer  boss  an'  tell  him 
I've  cum  round  yer  to  get  pay  fer  that  dorg  you  all 
done  killed." 

Sol  walked  straight  to  the  barn,  where  John  was 
working.  "  Dere's  a  man  out  dere  wants  to  see  you, 
boss,"  he  said.  "  I  reckon  it's  'bout  that  dorg  I  done 
killed.  You  better  take  you'  pistol  when  youse  go, 
I  reckon." 

"I  don't  want  no  pistol,  I  guess,"  said  John,  as  he 
put  down  his  hammer  and  started  for  the  front  oi 
the  house.  Sol  did  not  consider  the  hammer  such  a 
useless  implement  evidently.  He  caught  up  the  tool 
and  hid  it  under  his  vest,  and  foHowed  John.  The 
visitor  still  stood  in  front  of  the  house,  leaning  on  his 
gun.  John  walked  up  to  him,  and,  nodding  with  the 
New  England  idea  of  politeness,  said:  "Howdy 
do?" 


BOB   GLENN   WANTS   HIS   PAY  229 

"I'm  tollerble,  I  reckon,"  was  the  answer. 

The  long  individual  looked  curiously  at  John 
over  the  muzzle  of  his  gun. 

"  Your  nigger  killed  my  dorg,"  he  said,  at  last. 
"I've  cum  round  yer  ter  git  my  pay  fer  'im." 

John  was  as  near  to  being  angry  as  he  often  got. 
Things  had  gone  wrong  all  the  afternoon,  and  Nellie 
was  at  Colonel  Fair's  house.  The  man  before  him 
was  such  a  miserable  specimen  of  humanity,  and 
he  spoke  so  insolently,  that  John  grew  obstinate  at 
once. 

"  I  ketched  3'our  dog  killin'  sheep.  I've  gut  the 
law  on  my  side,  an'  ye  can't  collect  nothin'." 

"I  don't  care  a  shuck  fer  the  law.  I've  come 
ter  git  the  pay  fer  my  dorg.  Your  nigger  killed  him. 
You  Yankees  needn't  a  think  ye're  comin'  down  yer 
to  kill  my  dorg." 

There  was  a  wicked  look  on  the  dog-owner's  face 
as  he.  straightened  up  and  raised  his  gun  from  the 
ground.  He  had  sadly  mistaken  his  man,  however, 
if  he  expected  to  frighten  John.  An  old  soldier 
does  not  forget  his  military  experience  so  readily. 

"Don't  yer  pint  that  gun  at  me!"  John  said  as 
he  stepped  forward.  "  I  warn't  brought  up  in  the 
woods  ter  be  scart  by  no  owls.  Stand  back  an'  clear 
out." 

John  found  himself  well  supported  by  Sol.  The 
negro  quickly  drew  the  hammer  from  under  his  vest 
and  stepped  to  the  side  of  the  stranger. 

Before  the  gun  could  have  been  raised,  Sol  could 
easily  have  broken  the  dog-owner's  skull.  This  lat- 
ter geoitleman  seemed  to  appreciate  the  situation. 


230  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

"  You've  got  the  drop  on  me,  I  reckon,"  he  said, 
as  he  lowered  the  point  of  his  gun ;  "  but  it's  my 
turn  next." 

He  turned  and  walked  slowly  down  the  path 
toward  the  gate.  He  did  not  go  far,  but  sat  down 
under  a  tree  and  examined  his  musket.  Tljen  lie 
sat  with  his  weapon  across  his  knees  and  watched 
the  house.  John  grew  uneasy  at  tliis  watcliing. 
Every  time  he  turned  from  his  work,  he  could  see 
the  unwelcome  visitor  still  sitting  under  tlie  tree. 
At  last  he  went  down  to  the  little  gate  and  called  to 
the  man  to  "  clear  out." 

"  I  want  the  pay  fer  that  dorg,"  was  all  the  answer 
he  could  get. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Colonel  Fair  brought  Nellie 
home. 

"What  ye  gut  down  under  them  trees,  judge?" 
he  asked,  pointing  to  the  visitor. 

John  explained  the  matter,  much  to  the  amusement 
of  Colonel  Fair. 

"Look  out  he  don't  burn  yer  gin-house  some 
night,"  he  said. 

As  Colonel  Fair  drove  back  to  his  own  house  he 
stopped  near  the  seated  figure  under  the  tree. 

"  What  are  ye  doin'  here  ?  "  he  asked  sternly. 

"  I  want  the  pay  fer  my  dorg,"  was  the  sullen 
answer.     The  man  had  but  one  idea. 

"  You'd  better  quit  now,  an'  keep  the  rest  of  yer 
dogs  to  home,  I  reckon.  That  man  up  y under  don't 
waste  no  words  at  all.  I  expect  he's  killed  a  dozen 
men.  He  says  if  you  don't  go  mighty  soon,  he's 
comin'  out  on  the  porch  an'  jest  use  ye  fer  a  target. 


BOB   GLENN   WANTS    HIS   PAY  231 

He  can  snuff  a  candle  at  ten  rod,  he  can,  an'  you'd 
better  quit  afore  he  comes  out." 

The  man  was  evidently  moved  by  this  address. 
He  called  out  the  object  of  his  mission  once  or 
twice,  and  at  last  shouldered  his  gun  and  walked 
slowly  out  of  the  grounds.  He  paused  for  a  moment 
at  the  gate,  as  if  about  to  return  and  insist  upon  the 
payment,  but  John's  reputation  as  a  marksman  was 
too  much  for  him  —  he  walked  off  along  the  road, 
looking  back  at  intervals  to  see  if  John  appeared  on 
the  porch. 

This  incident  troubled  John  and  Nellie  consider- 
ably. They  were  afraid  the  man  would  return  and 
make  more  trouble.  The  days  went  by,  however, 
and  nothing  was  heard  from  him  until  the  day  that 
John  went  to  town  and  attended  the  political  meet- 
ing. Late  in  the  afternoon  of  that  day,  little  Nellie 
determined  to  go  down  to  the  gate  to  meet  her 
father  on  his  return  from  town.  Her  mother  was 
busy  in  the  house,  so  the  little  girl  induced  Aunt 
Jinny  to  go  down  to  the  gate  with  her.  The  old 
negress  was  always  willing  to  do  whatever  "  little 
honey  "  proposed,  so  the  two  started  on  their  pil- 
grimage. The  old  woman  hobbled  painfully  along 
with  her  stick,  but  the  little  girl  danced  gleefully  all 
over  the  road.  She  would  run  far  ahead,  and  then 
dance  back  to  help  Aunt  Jinny  along. 

"  You  is  mighty  spry,  you  is,"  said  the  old  woman, 
as  little  Nellie  danced  back  to  take  hold  of  the  stick 
and  thus  increase  Aunt  Jinny's  rate  of  progression. 
"  You  is  mighty  spry.  I  reckon  it  ud  take  a  po'ful 
big  piece  of  sunshine  fer  ter  keep  ahead  o'  youse." 


232  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

Aunt  Jinny  sat  down  under  a  tree  near  the  gate, 
while  little  Nellie  climbed  on  the  fence  to  obtain  a 
better  view  of  the  road. 

"There  comes  papa,"  she  shouted  at  last,  pointing 
down  the  road.  Far  in  the  distance,  just  coming 
over  a  little  hill,  she  saw  a  wagon  that  looked 
exactly  like  her  father's.  She  did  not  examine  it 
closely,  but,  child-like,  jumped  to  the  ground  at  once 
to  run  and  meet  it. 

"  Come,  Aunt  Jinny,"  she  shouted,  "  come"  and 
ride  back  with  papa." 

Aunt  Jinny  rose  stifiSy  and  followed  the  little  girl 
down  the  road.  Little  Nellie  did  not  stop  to  run 
back  now.  She  danced  on  ahead,  eager  to  meet  her 
father.  She  was  quite  a  little  distance  ahead  of 
Aunt  Jinny  when  a  man  started  up  from  under  a 
tree  by  the  road,  and  shouted  to  her :  — 

"  Hold  on,  thar !  " 

She  stopped  with  her  eyes  wide  open  in  wonder  at 
this  command.  The  voice  was  so  hard  and  rasping 
that  it  frightened  her.  It  was  the  same  man  that 
had  troubled  John.  He  picked  up  his  gun  from  the 
ground  and  walked  out  into  the  road.  He  scowled 
fiercely  at  the  little  girl,  and  growled  out  his  old 
demand  :  — 

"  I  want  the  pay  fer  that  dorg." 

Little  Nellie  was  badly  frightened.  Her  finger 
went  up  to  her  mouth,  and  the  little  eyes  filled  with 
tears  as  the  brute  lowered  upon  her.  Aunt  Jinny 
did  her  best  to  reach  the  spot,  but  she  was  old  and 
stiff.  She  hobbled  on  with  a  firm  clutch  at  her 
stick,  and  shouted  as  best  she  could  :  — 


BOB   GLENN   WANTS   HIS   PAY  233 

"  Let  go  dat  chile  —  drop  dat,  yo'  po'  white  trash." 

The  man  pointed  his  gun  directly  at  the  old 
"Woman. 

"  Fall  back,  nigger,"  he  growled,  "  or  I'll  blow 
ye  inter  rags." 

Aunt  Jinny  never  halted,  but  pushed  on  right 
up  to  the  face  of  the  gun. 

"  Drop  that  gun.  Bob  Glenn,  or  Til  blow  the  day- 
light right  through  yer  head  !  " 

It  was  a  man's  voice,  sharp  and  clear  as  a  bell. 
The  dog-owner  seemed  to  know  it  well,  for  he 
dropped  his  gun  in  an  instant,  and  turned  his  face 
savagely  toward  the  speaker. 

Jack  Foster  stood  in  his  wagon,  one  hand  holding 
the  reins,  and  the  other  pointing  a  bright  revolver. 
It  was  he  that  Nellie  had  seen  down  the  road. 

"Pick  up  that  gun  and  put  it  in  my  wagon,"  said 
Jack,  sternly.  "  You  know  me,"  he  said,  as  the  man 
hesitated.  "  I  always  do  just  what  I  say  I  will,  and 
I'd  just  as  soon  shoot  you  as  eat." 

The  man  sullenly  picked  up  his  weapon  and  car- 
ried it  to  the  wagon. 

"Now,  clear  out.  If  you  want  that  gun  again 
come  up  to  my  house,  and  if  you  come  inside  my 
gate  I'll  shoot  you  without  warning." 

Bob  Glenn  seemed  to  feel  after  this  speech  that  he 
might  just  as  well  bid  his  gun  a  long  farewell.  He 
gave  one  last  glance  at  it,  and  then  slunk  into  the 
woods  like  a  whipped  cur.  His  sting  had  been 
taken  from  him.     He  was  no  longer  dangerous. 

Jack  put  his  pistol  back  into  his  pocket,  and  got 
out  of  the  wagon  to  speak  a  word  to  little  Nellie. 


234  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

The  poor  little  girl  was  crying  bitterly.  She  had 
been  badly  frightened.  Aunt  Jinny  sat  on  the 
ground,  holding  the  baby  in  her  arms,  and  rocking 
to  and  fro  with  her. 

"  Nebber  mine,  lille  honey,"  she  muttered,  "  he 
done  gone  away  now,  I  reckon.  Yo'  papy  he  come 
mighty  soon  now,  sho'  'nufP." 

'*  Don't  cry  now,  little  girl,"  said  Jack,  as  he  knelt 
on  the  grass  beside  her.  Jack  had  always  loved 
children,  though  of  late  years,  in  his  silent  and  soli- 
tary life,  he  had  seen  but  few  of  them. 

Little  Nellie  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled  through 
her  tears.  She  sprang  away  from  Aunt  Jinny,  and 
put  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissed  him. 

"  I  know  you,"  she  said,  eagerly.  "  You  are  the 
man  who  didn't  shoot  my  papa.  I  heard  papa  and 
mamma  talk  about  you,  and  I  love  you." 

She  kissed  him  again,  and  at  the  touch  of  her  lips 
Jack  felt  all  the  bitter  feeling  he  had  held  toward 
John  Rockwell  pass  from  his  heart. 

That  kiss  came  into  his  lonely  life  like  a  beam  of 
sunshine  into  a  prisoner's  cell.  He  drew  the  dear 
little  thing  close  to  him  and  kissed  her  again  and 
again,  until  she  dried  her  eyes  and  laughed  merrily. 
Jack  placed  her  on  the  seat,  by  his  side,  and  even 
helped  Aunt  Jinny  into  the  wagon. 

They  drove  on  and  reached  the  gate  just  as  Nellie 
and  Sol  came  hurrying  down  from  the  house  to  seek 
for  the  wanderers.  Nellie  had  missed  the  little  girl 
shortly  after  she  started  from  the  house.  Jack  Fos- 
ter told  the  story  in  a  few  words.  He  handed  the 
little  girl  down  to  her  mother,  and,  after  a  short  con- 


BOB   GLENN   WANTS   HIS   PAY  235 

versation,  gathered  up  his  reins  to  drive  on.  Nellie 
noticed  how  her  little  girl  clung  to  him,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  his  face  had  lost  that  hard,  bitter  look  it  had 
worn  before.  A  sudden  impulse  led  her  to  say,  as 
he  reached  for  the  reins  :  — 

"Won't  you  come  up  to  the  house  for  a  moment? 
Please  do,  for  I  have  something  I  must  say  to  you." 

The  little  woman  wondered  at  her  boldness,  after 
she  had  spoken.  The  invitation  pleased  little  Nellie 
greatly. 

*'  Please  tum,"  she  said,  and  tried  to  climb  again 
into  the  wagon.  Jack  hesitated  a  moment,  but  the 
little  face  looking  up  at  him  was  more  than  he  could 
stand,  and  he  dropped  the  reins  again  and  jumped  to 
the  ground.  He  helped  Nellie  into  the  wagon,  and 
put  the  little  girl  at  her  side.  Then  he  drove  slowly 
up  to  the  house.  Aunt  Jinny,  poor  old  soul,  had  not 
been  able  to  climb  to  the  ground  at  all. 

Jack  tied  his  horse  to  the  post,  and  then  walked 
slowly  up  to  the  piazza,  where  he  took  his  seat.  Lit- 
tle Nellie  ran  at  his  side,  and,  when  he  had  seated  him- 
self, climbed  on  his  knee.  What  a  flood  of  memories 
swept  through  the  heart  of  this  lonely  man  as  he 
looked  down  into  this  sweet  little  face.  How  true 
he  had  been  to  that  one  woman  he  loved  better  than 
his  life.  How  the  beautiful  eyes  of  this  child  seemed 
to  touch  his  very  soul,  and  clear  away  a  great  weight 
that  had  rested  on  his  heart  for  years.  His  eyes  were 
dim  with  the  mist  of  tenderness,  when  the  little  thino- 
put  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  whispered  again : 
"I  do  love  you." 

Nellie  left  Jack  on  the  piazza,  and  went  straight 


236  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

to  her  own  room.  The  thought  of  what  she  had 
done,  and  what  she  was  going  to  do,  frightened  her. 
She  wondered  what  John  would  say,  and  yet  she 
could  not  stop  now.  She  unlocked  her  trunk,  and 
drew  from  tlie  very  bottom  a  little  wooden  box  that 
her  mother  had  given  her  years  before.  It  was  the 
most  valuable  thing  that  Nellie  owned,  yet  there  was 
nothing  in  it  but  the  long  yellow  curl  that  John  had 
cut  from  Archie's  head,  and  the  letter  that  had  found 
its  answer  so  well. 

Nellie  held  this  little  box  tightly  in  her  hand,  as 
she  walked  slowly  back  to  the  piazza.  How  could 
she  show  these  sacred  tokens  ?  No  one  but  John 
had  ever  seen  them,  and  yet  —  but  for  this  man  — 
she  could  not  finish  the  thought. 

She  drew  her  chair  to  Jack's  side,  and  told  her 
story  simply,  while  Jack  sat  with  the  little  girl's  arms 
about  his  neck,  and  her  great  eyes  looking  into  his 
very  soul.  She  told  her  story  as  only  such  a  woman 
can  talk.  She  did  not  cry,  but  her  heart  was  in  her 
words.  Her  voice  trembled,  and  her  lip  quivered, 
but  Jack,  looking  down  through  a  strange  blindness 
into  the  great  eyes  before  him,  did  not  think  that  she 
was  only  a  poor,  weak,  simple  woman. 

Nellie  told  her  story  bravely,  but  when  it  was  fin- 
ished her  woman's  heart  gave  way,  and  she  could 
not  keep  the  tears  from  her  eyes.  Little  Nellie  left 
Jack  and  climbed  into  her  mother's  lap.  She  brushed 
away  the  tears  with  her  little  hand,  and  kissed  all 
traces  of  them  from  sight.  Jack  waited  till  Nellie 
had  composed  herself,  and  then  he  handed  back  the 
little  box.  His  face  was  strangely  bright,  and  his 
voice  was  gentle  with  tenderness. 


BOB   GLENN   WANTS   HIS   PAY  237 

"Mistress  Rockwell,"  he  said,  "I  must  thank  you 
for  speaking  as  you  have  to  me.  I  have  carried  a 
load  ill  my  heart  for  years.  It  is  lighter  now.  I 
have  never  told  my  people  here  why  I  refused  to 
shoot  your  husband.  I  have  lived  a  lonely  and 
awful  life  for  years.  I  knew  that  no  one  could  un- 
derstand why  I  did  not  do  my  duty ;  but  I  reckon 
you  can  understand  it,  and  I  will  tell  you. 

"  When  I  went  to  the  war,  I  left  a  little  woman  at 
home — almost  as  sweet  and  tender  as  you  are.  I 
loved  her  then,  and  I  love  her  now  a  great  deal  bet- 
ter than  I  love  my  life.  I  reckon  I'd  die  for  her  in 
a  minute.  I'd  been  reading  her  letters  when  your 
brother  died,  and  when  your  husband  came  after  the 
flowers.  I  couldn't  drive  that  little  woman  out  of 
my  mind.  I  couldn't  kill  him  for  doing  just  what  I 
would  have  done  myself. 

"  People  called  me  a  traitor  —  and  they  had  a  right 
to,  I  reckon.  It  killed  my  mother,  and  my  little  girl' 
has  never  looked  at  me  since  I  told  her  I  let  your 
husband  live.  I  couldn't  tell  her  just  how  it  was, 
and  I  reckon  she  hates  me  now.  I've  lived  all  these 
years  here  alone.  God  knows  what  I've  suffered, 
and  yet  I  can't  bring  myself  to  regret  having  spared 
that  life.     I  am  glad  I  did  it." 

And  so  Jack  told  his  story.  His  head  sank  on  his 
breast,  as  he  told  of  Lucy's  anger  and  his  lonely  life, 
and  his  eyes  wandered  wistfully  down  the  road  to- 
wards the  town.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  spoken 
of  his  trouble,  and  he  hardly  knew  how  to  frame 
words  for  his  story.  Little  Nellie  came  at  last,  and 
climbed  on  to  his  knee  again.  It  was  thus  that 
John  found  them  as  he  rode  home. 


238  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

Jack  rose,  and  walked  down  to  the  gate  to  meet 
John.  He  held  out  his  hand  in  silence,  and  John 
shook  it  heartily.  Not  a  word  was  said  about  tlie 
matter,  but  the  two  men  understood  each  other. 
Men  witli  weaker  minds  would  have  stood  and  talked 
for  an  hour  about  it,  but  these  two  strong-hearted 
men  could  not  find  words  to  express  what  they  felt. 
They  knew  that  Nellie  could  explain  far  better  than 
they  ever  could. 

Jack  could  not  take  supper  with  his  new  friends. 
They  all  understood  why.  They  all  needed  to  think 
and  talk  over  the  new  order  of  things  before  they 
could  meet  as  they  desired  to.  So  Jack  bade  them 
good-by.  He  kissed  the  little  girl,  and  gave  John 
and  Nellie  a  great  hand-clasp,  and  then  rode  away 
down  the  road  through  the  twilight.  His  heart  was 
lighter  than  it  had  been  for  years  before.  It  was 
filled  with  a  strange  tenderness  too.  Somehow, 
there  seemed  to  be  a  hope  for  him  at  last.  Of 
course,  Nellie  told  John  the  whole  story.  John 
seemed  very  thoughtful  that  night  as  they  stood 
watching  the  sleeping  baby. 

".What  are  you  thinking  about,  John?"  she 
asked,  as  she  reached  up  to  pull  his  face  down  so 
that  she  could  look  into  his  eyes. 

"  I  was  thinking  how  much  better  you  are  than 
anybody  else  in  the  world,"  said  John,  honestly. 

Then  it  was  Nellie's  turn  to  be  thoughtful,  and 
John  had  to  ask  her  the  same  question. 

"  I  was  wishing  that  we  might  do  more  fur  /ii'm," 
she  answered. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

JACK  Foster's  trouble 

Life  seemed  pleasanter  to  John  and  Nellie,  after 
the  talk  with  Jack  Foster.  They  had  felt  before 
that  he  hated  them,  and  now  that  they  knew  his 
story,  and  how  much  he  had  suffered,  they  longed  to 
offer  their  sympathy  and  help.  They  could  under- 
stand his  position  exactly. 

"  Suppose  you  had  been  a  traitor,  John ;  or  sup- 
pose I  thought  you  had  been,"  said  Nellie,  as  they 
were  speaking  of  Jack's  case,  one  night. 

"  Well,  would  you  have  married  me  ? "  asked 
John. 

"No,  indeed,"  said  Nellie,  stoutly. 

"  But  would  you  have  stopped  loving  me  ?  "  and 
John  caught  his  wife's  face  in  both  his  hands,  and 
held  it  where  she  could  not  look  away  from  him. 

She  looked  up  at  him  almost  sadly,  as  she  an- 
swered slowly  :  "  I  don't  think  I  could  have  stopped 
loving  you,  John,  though  I  never  would  have  let 
you  know  it.  I  don't  think  a  woman  ever  can  drive 
love  out  of  her  heart  as  a  man  can.  She  must  stay 
at  home  and  keep  it  in  her  heart." 

It  was  some  time  before  Jack  Foster  came  to  the 
plantation  again.  He  seemed  to  realize  that  his 
friendship  would  help  the  new  people  but  little,  and 

239 


240  ANDERSON VI LLE   VIOLETS 

perhaps  the  sight  of  the  happiness  of  John  and  Nel- 
lie made  hiin  think  of  what  might  have  been  his 
own. 

At  last,  John,  at  Nellie's  suggestion,  fonnd  an  er- 
rand that  took  him  over  to  Jack's  plantation.  Both 
men  understood  all  about  this  errand.  Its  object 
was  hardly  mentioned  after  the  conversation  opened. 
The  two  men  talked  long  and  earnestly,  and  the 
visit  was  ended  by  Jack's  coming  back  to  look  at 
John's  stock  and  improvements.  They  walked 
about  the  place,  discussing  agriculture  and  politics. 
It  seemed  now  as  if  they  had  known  each  other  for 
years.  They  were  surprised  to  find  how  much  they 
had  in  common,  when  they  were  once  brought  into 
anything  like  confidential  relations.  Nellie  would 
not  liear  of  Jack's  goiiig  home  before  supper,  so  he 
sta3^ed  until  after  dark.  The}^  all  sat  on  the  piazza 
and  talked.  It  was  the  merriest  time  Jack  had 
known  for  years. 

After  this  Jack  came  to  the  plantation  quite  fre- 
quently, often  making  errands  as  transparent  as 
John's  first  one  had  been.  He  seemed  to  enjoy  talk- 
ing politics  with  John,  though  there  were  few  points 
upon  which  they  could  agree.  He  was  never  tired 
of  holding  the  little  girl,  and  it  seemed  impossible  fur 
him  to  go  to  town  without  bringing  her  back  a  pres- 
ent of  some  kind. 

In  all  their  talks,  John  and  he  never  discussed 
their  first  awful  meeting.  It  seemed  to  be  under- 
stood between  them  that  this  topic  should  not  be 
mentioned.  They  spoke  of  the  war,  of  the  various 
battles  iu  which  they  had  fought,  of  reconstruction 


JACK  Foster's  trouble  241 

and  its  results,  but  not  a  word  was  ever  said  of  the 
day  when  John  walked  up  to  the  dead  line  and  the 
musket  dropped. 

Jack  Foster  was  about  the  only  friend  that  the  New 
England  people  could  find.  There  were  plenty  of 
people  in  the  town  who  treated  John  civilly,  and 
were  glad  to  trade  with  him,  but  it  always  seemed  as 
if  there  was  a  feeling  of  distrust  behind  it  all.  No 
one  invited  him  home  or  asked  him  to  bring  his  fam- 
ily to  call.  Their  manner  gave  him  to  understand 
that  he  was  on  trial,  and  that  he  must  prove  his  hon- 
esty and  respectability  before  they  could  take  liim 
into  their  families.  There  seemed  to  be  something 
—  he  could  not  tell  what  it  was  —  between  himself 
and  the  rest  of  the  people.  He  was  to  find  that  this 
feeling  would  in  time  wear  away,  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent, yet  he  never  could  feel  as  he  had  felt  with  his 
neighbors  at  home. 

No  one  came  to  call  upon  Nellie  for  a  long  time. 
A  number  of  men  came  to  look  over  the  plantation 
and  see  what  John  was  doing  with  it.  They  seemed 
like  sensible,  practical  men.  There  was  a  very  no- 
ticeable lack  of  energy  about  most  of  them,  and  a 
tendency  to  make  great  schemes  rather  than  to 
suggest  any  practical  way  of  working  such  plans  ont. 
Some  of  these  visitors  were  ready  to  admit  that 
farmers  were  raising  too  much  cotton  and  too  little 
corn  and  meat,  yet  they  were  every  one  of  them 
doing  this  very  same  thing.  They  seemed  to  under- 
stand that  a  change  must  be  made,  yet  they  had 
neither  the  patience  nor  the  energy  to  go  through 
the  slow  process  of  development.     They  looked  over 


242  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

John's  plantation  carefully,  examined  the  stock, 
looked  at  the  new  barn,  and  all  the  genuine  Yankee 
contrivances  that  John  was  building,  and  noted  the 
great  preparations  that  John  had  made  for  pasturage 
and  the  grass  crop.  Some  laughed  outright  at  what 
they  called  John's  foolishness. 

"Cotton  is  the  only  thing  you  can  raise  here," 
they  said.  "  You'll  ruin  yourself  in  two  years,  and 
then  go  back  and  curse  this  country." 

Others  concealed  their  ridicule  or  doubt  behind  a 
stolid  face  ;  they  went  away  and  told  others  of  the 
Yankee's  foolishness  and  sure  failure.  There  were 
still  others  who  frankly  admitted  that  John  was 
right  in  his  ideas  of  farming.  They  shook  their 
heads  sadly,  however,  as  they  said  :  — 

"  You  all  kin  do  these  things,  but  I  don't  reckon 
we  ever  kin.  We're  lazy,  I  reckon,  by  nature.  You 
all  will  git  lazy  before  you've  ben  here  five  years,  an' 
then  you  kin  see  how  it  is  with  us." 

And  John,  not  knowing  what  laziness  meant,  and 
not  appreciating  what  lives  these  men  had  lived, 
would  justly  set  his  neighbors  down  as  being  the 
most  shiftless  and  indolent  set  of  men  he  had  ever 
seen.  In  New  England  the  lazy  man  of  the  com- 
munity was  so  rare,  that  he  was  picked  out  to  serve 
as  a  terrible  example  for  the  boys  and  girls.  Here 
the  energetic  men  were  as  solitary  as  were  their  lazy 
brothers  in  Breeze  town. 

If  there  was  a  lack  of  agreeable  society,  there 
were  many  things  about  the  new  life  that  John  and 
Nellie  enjoyed.  The  weather  all  through  the  autumn 
was  beautiful.     Instead  of  the  early  frosts  and  cold 


JACK  FOSTER'S  TROUBLE  243 

nights  of  New  England,  there  was  a  succession  of 
beautiful  sunny  days,  and  nights  so  pleasant  that 
they  could  sit  upon  the  piazza  long  after  supper. 
The  days  seemed  longer  too,  and  John  was  able  to 
push  his  work  with  all  speed.  The  splendid  agricul- 
tural advantages  of  the  country  became  more  and 
more  apparent  to  John  the  longer  he  studied  them. 
He  could  not  understand  how  men  could  have  neg- 
lected the  land  so  long. 

Jack  Foster's  plantation  was  about  as  badly  run 
down  as  any  of  them.  Jack  had  but  little  ambition 
to  improve  his  place.  He  had  been  satisfied  to 
"make  a  living."  After  talking  with  John,  how- 
ever, he  really  went  to  work  with  some  sort  of  sys- 
tem. He  bought  stock,  and  did  his  best  to  imitate 
John's  methods  of  work. 

Jack  had  given  up  all  hope  of  speaking  to  Lucy 
again,  and  he  hardly  knew  why  he  was  anxious  to 
improve  his  place.  But  it  is  certain  that  after  every 
visit  to  John's  house,  and  every  talk  with  Nellie,  he 
went  back  home  with  some  new  plan  for  work.  If 
the  rest  of  his  neighbors  had  looked  upon  him  dif- 
ferently, no  doubt  he  would  have  joined  the  majority 
of  them  in  saying  that  John's  system  might  do  for  a 
Yankee,  but  that  it  never  would  work  at  the  Soutli. 
His  neighbors  did  not  trust  him  and  he  knew  it. 
John  was  the  first  man  with  whom  he  had  talked 
confidentially  since  the  war.  The  two  men  were 
placed  in  such  a  peculiar  position  that  they  devel- 
oped their  friendship  and  grew  towards  each  other 
more  and  more. 

Whenever  Nellie  went  to  town,  she  did  her  best  to 


244  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

get  a  glimpse  of  Lucy.  She  saw  her  whenever  they 
went  to  church,  for  Lucy  was  sure  to  be  there.  It 
made  Nellie's  heart  ache  to  see  poor  Jack  Foster 
watch  Lucy  as  she  sat  in  church.  Lucy  seemed  pale 
and  ill.  There  were  deep  lines  of  suffering  on  her 
face,  and  she  had  lost  most  of  her  beauty.  She 
never  looked  at  Jack,  but  sat  cold  and  stern,  except 
when  at  the  last  prayer  she  knelt  with  her  face  in 
her  hands.  Kellie  learned  more  of  her  story  as  time 
went  by.  Her  mother  had  died  a  few  years  after 
the  war.  She  lived  now  with  an  old  aunt  in  the 
house  where  Jack  had  met  his  doom.  Jack  pointed 
out  the  place  to  Nellie  one  day.  He  had  lived  so 
near  it  for  years,  and  yet  he  had  never  dared  to  enter 
since  that  morning,  when  Lucy's  scorn  had  driven 
him  away.  Nellie  wondered  what  she  could  do  to 
soften  that  proud  heart.  She  seemed  powerless. 
There  appeared  to  be  no  tenderness  in  that  stern 
face,  and  yet  Nellie  could  not  help  feeling  how  she 
would  have  felt  had  she  been  placed  in  like  circum- 
stances, and  been  told  the  true  story.  She  longed 
for  a  chance  to  talk  to  Lucy  and  tell  her  what  she 
had  told  Jack. 

It  was  a  great  mystery  to  John  at  first  how  far- 
mers had  so  much  time  to  sit  about  the  stores  in  the 
town.  He  found  them  tliere  on  all  occasions  when 
he  knew  there  must  be  work  to  be  done  at  home. 
Seated  on  comfortable  chairs,  smoking  their  unfail- 
ing pipes  or  chewing  tobacco,  they  all  seemed  to  take 
life  as  a  remarkably  pleasant  dream.  He  could  not 
understand  how  these  men  ever  made  a  living. 
With  him  a  "living  "  had  always  stood  as  the  repre- 


JACK  Foster's  trouble  245 

sentative  of  a  number  of  hard  days'  work.  The 
lazy  men  at  home  were  generally  paupers.  Here, 
they  seemed  to  be  leading  citizens.  One  of  these 
stationary  farmers  said  to  him  one  day :  "  I  reckon  I 
kin  make  mo'  money  right  yer  in  my  chair  than  I  kin 
out  on  ary  farm  in  this  country." 

This  only  served  to  heighten  John's  perplexity, 
and  he  went  to  Colonel  Fair  for  an  explanation. 
Colonel  Fair  had  a  most  supreme  contempt  for  these 
loungers.  They  were  a  part  of  that  class  of  citizens 
that  he  insisted  would  have  to  "die  off"  before  the 
country  could  ever  come  to  anything. 

"  They  live  on  the  niggers,"  he  explained,  when 
John  came  with  his  question.  "  They  rent  out  their 
land  to  niggers,  and  make  the  poor  black  fellers  do 
all  the  work,  while  they  hold  down  them  chairs  and 
take  the  money.  There's  a  heap  of  men  in  this 
country  that  jest  cuss  the  nigger  up  hill  an'  down,  an' 
yet  them  same  men  would  starve  to  death  if  the  nig- 
ger should  go  away.  It's  mighty  easy,  I  reckon,  to 
make  money  outer  niggers  if  a  man  only  has  a  tough 
conscience.  I  reckon  a  heap  of  the  men  here  have 
got  consciences  like  sole  leather.  A  man  with  a 
little  cash  can  buy  half  a  dozen  mules  in  the  spring 
o'  the  year,  an'  make  'em  support  him. 

''  A  nigger  comes  in  an'  wants  to  buy  a  mule. 
Them  fellers  sell  him  one  for,  say,  $150.  The  nigger 
gives  a  lien  on  his  crop  for  the  money.  The  nigger 
goes  out  an'  makes  his  crop.  The  white  man  sells 
him  meat  and  corn  enough  to  run  him  through  the 
summer.  The  nigger  works  out  in  the  sun,  and  the 
white  man  sets  in  the  shade.     When  they  come  to 


246  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

settle  up,  the  nigger  is  always  behind.  He  can't 
never  git  ahead.  He  loses  his  mule,  an'  he  loses  his 
crop.  The  white  man  can  figger,  an'  the  nigger 
can't.  The  nigger,  like  enough,  signs  his  name  to 
whatever  the  white  man  draws  up.  Nine  times  out 
of  ten,  he  can't  read  any  way.  When  he  comes  up 
with  his  crop,  he  finds  a  statement  about  like  this." 

Colonel  Fair  picked  up  a  piece  of  board  as  lie 
spoke,  and  wrote  with  his  pencil  the  following  remark- 
able statement  of  account :  — 


Nigger  Dr. 

Mule  and  Harness §200 

Rations 75 

$275 
Interest  at  2  1-2  per  mo 40 

$315 

Nigger  Cr. 
By  Cotton 225 

Bal.  against  Nigger $90 


"  Then  the  white  man,"  continued  Colonel  Fair, 
"says,  'I'll  allow  you  $50  for  that  mule  and  har- 
ness, an',  as  you've  had  hard  luck,  I'll  knock  off  $25, 
so  you'll  only  owe  me  $15.' 

"  So  the  nigger,  after  workin*  hard  all  summer, 
only  finds  himself  in  debt.  The  white  man  has  his 
mule  to  sell — like  enough  to  the  same  nigger  next 
year.  That's  the  way  them  fellers  live.  I  know  one 
mule  that's  been  sold  that  way  six  times. 

"  That's  why  I  claim  the  nigger  ain't  never  gon- 
ter  be  nothin'.  He  won't  never  git  no  chance.  The 
nigger  is  the  cleverest-hearted  mortal  in  the  world. 


JACK  Foster's  trouble  247 

He'll  work  his  hands  off  fer  a  little  flattery,  I  reckon. 
These  fellers  down  here  know  how  to  work  it  sharp, 
an'  the  nigger  is  always  goin'  to  do  the  work,  while 
the  white  man  pulls  in  the  money." 

John  kept  the  board,  and  showed  it  to  Jack  Fos- 
ter a  few  days  later. 

"  Is  that  true  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  reckon  a  heap  of  it  is,"  said  Jack,  slowly. 
"  It's  a  little  exaggerated,  of  course,  but  a  heap  of  it 
is  true,  sure  enough.  It's  a  mighty  bad  thing  for 
the  country  that  labor  is  so  unreliable." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  NEGRO  QUESTION 

The  more  John  studied  the  negro  question,  the 
more  difficult  of  solution  the  problem  seemed.  Not 
long  after  the  election  he  listened  to  a  discussion 
that  did  much  to  point  out  still  more  clearly  the 
difference  between  the  Northern  and  Southern 
methods  of  studying  the  question.  In  one  of  his 
visits  to  town  John  found  a  young  Northern  man 
who  had  come  to  the  South  for  his  health.  This 
man,  at  John's  invitation,  spent  a  week  at  the  plan- 
tation. He  was  a  man  of  fine  education,  who  studied 
with  keen  interest  the  curious  problems  of  Southern 
life.  He  was  an  ardent  Republican,  and  something 
of  a  theorist  as  regards  the  negro.  He  found  in 
Jack  Foster  a  man  who  would  discuss  the  negro 
question  without  getting  angry,  and  who  could  give 
him  many  new  points.  Jack  had  done  considerable 
reading.  During  his  lonely  life  he  had  thought  a 
great  deal  and  studied  hard  at  the  social  problems  of 
the  day.  He  could  not  drop  his  old  belief  in  the 
inferiority  of  the  negro,  but  he  could  discuss  tlie 
question  with  a  much  better  spirit  than  most  South- 
ern men.  His  great  friendship  for  John  gave  him  a 
certain  respect  for  a  Northern  opinion,  though  he 
could  not  be  converted.     John  was  never  tired  of 

248 


THE   NEGRO   QUESTION  249 

listening  to  the  discussion  that  was  sure  to  come  up 
whenever  Jack  and  the  young  Northerner  met. 

"  The  nigger,"  Jack  would  say,  in  all  seriousness, 
"  is  an  inferior  man,  and  never  can  be  the  equal  of 
the  white  man." 

*'  How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  Because  in  all  the  history  of  the  world  there  never 
has  been  a  bhick  race  that  ever  showed  superior  in- 
telligence. The  niggers  are  different  from  white 
men  "  —  and  Jack  would  describe  the  difference  in 
finger  nails,  liair,  and  head.  "  The  nigger  was  made 
to  serve,  and  it  is  against  all  ideas  of  religion  and 
morality  for  us  to  dream  of  him  as  an  equal.  The 
bare  idea  of  such  a  thing  would  drive  a  Southern 
lady  nearly  crazy.  No  one  can  imagine  what  a  hor- 
rible disgust  the  very  suggestion  of  such  a  thing 
brings  up.  Petting  the  nigger,  and  making  him 
think  he  is  anything  but  a  slave,  only  tends  to  spoil 
him  forever." 

"How  spoil  him?" 

"  It  gives  him  fool-notions,  and  would  in  a  short 
time  break  up  all  the  safety  of  our  society." 

"  Then  you  believe  in  keeping  the  negro  in  igno- 
rance? " 

*'  No,  I  do  not,  though  I  must  confess  that  too 
many  Southern  men  do.  I  am  in  favor  of  educating 
the  nigger,  because  I  know  that  his  educational 
powers  are  limited.  The  nigger  learns  quickly,  but 
he  gets  filled  up  in  a  very  short  time.  Take  a  white 
boy  and  nigger  boy,  each,  say,  nine  years  old,  give 
them  equal  advantages,  and  the  nigger  will  beat  the 
white  boy  all  to  death.     When  the  nigger  gets  to  be 


250  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

fifteen  years  old  you  can't  get  anything  more  into 
his  head  —  he  is  filled  up,  while  the  white  boy  goes 
on  gaining  every  week.  There  are  some  niggers 
who  are  smart  and  know  how  to  learn.  They  are  so 
few  that  they  seem  like  any  other  freak  of  nature  — 
simple  monstrosities.  I  can't  think  of  any  more  un- 
desirable position  than  that  of  an  educated  nigger 
who  knows  what  the  rest  of  his  race  must  be." 

"  Then  it  is  not  possible,  in  your  opinion,  for  the 
negro  to  master  enougli  of  an  education  to  fit  him 
for  the  society  of  white  men  ?  " 

"  No,  sar,  it  makes  no  difference  how  refined  and 
talented  a  nigger  might  be,  I  never  could  ask  him  to 
my  table  and  have  any  more  respect  for  myself.  A 
sensible  nigger  will  realize  his  position,  and  never 
step  over  it.  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  would 
sit  at  the  same  table  with  a  nigger?  " 

"  To  be  sure,  I  would  ;  there  are  plenty  of  negroes 
in  the  country  who  are  superior  to  me  in  education 
and  manhood.  I  should  be  proud  to  sit  at  table 
wdth  them." 

"  I'm  mighty  sorry  to  hear  it.  If  that  was  known 
here,  how  many  people  do  you  suppose  would  invite 
3'ou  to  their  houses  ?  Do  you  reckon  that  these 
Republican  leaders  up  North,  who  have  so  much  to 
say  about  the  nigger,  would  really  invite  a  regular 
black  nigger  to  their  houses,  and  let  him  eat  with 
them  and  sleep  in  their  beds  ?  " 

"  Certainly  they  would,  if  he  was  deserving  of  it. 
I  know  plenty  of  men  that  would  do  so." 

Jack  shook  his  head  a  little  doubtingly.  He  could 
hardly  bring  himself  to  believe  this.     Southern  men 


THE   NEGRO   QUESTION  251 

generally  have  little  faith  in  the  sincerity  of  the 
Republican  leaders  who  urge  the  elevation  of  the 
negro.  The  experience  that  the  South  has  had  with 
Republicanism  leads  her  people  to  think  that  the 
Republicans  simply  wish  to  use  the  negro  as  a  tool, 
to  spoil  him  for  work,  and  then  leave  hira  to  injure 
political  enemies. 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  when  the  negroes 
all  learn  to  read  and  write,  and  the  '  freaks  of 
nature,'  as  you  call  them,  increase  in  number,  as 
they  are  sure  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  we'll  have  to  keep  them  down.  They 
don't  know  enough  to  organize,  and  they  never  will. 
We  know  that  they  are  an  inferior  race,  and  we 
know  from  experience  that  we  must  keep  them 
down." 

"  How  are  you  going  to  do  it  ?  " 

"  We  know  how.  It  is  a  matter  of  self-preserva- 
tion with  us  and  we  cannot  afford  to  let  the  nigger 
dream  of  social  equality.  I  might  as  well  ask  you 
how  you  propose  to  keep  down  the  workingmen  and 
foreigners  at  the  North.  They  will  multiply  so  in  a 
few  years  that  you  will  have  work  to  control  them. 
You  know  perhaps  how  the  work  will  be  done,  and 
in  the  same  way  ive  know  how  we  are  going  to  keep 
our  niggers  in  shape." 

''  But  we  have  no  thought  of  keeping  our  working- 
men  'down  '  as  you  call  it.  We  aim  to  educate  them 
and  bring  them  up  to  a  higher  plane  of  usefulness." 

"  That  is  well  enough  to  talk  of  white  men,  but 
you  can't  tell  niggers  such  stuff.  It  would  spoil 
them  in  no  time." 


252  ANDEESONVILLE   VIOLETS 

"Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  tliat  the  Saxons  were  at 
one  time  as  low  clown  as  these  negroes  are  now? 
History  shows  that  the  ignorant  ol)stinate  Saxons 
held  together  for  centuries,  kept  their  language  and 
religion,  and  in  time  forced  the  superior  Norman  to 
the  rear.  Why  is  it  not  possible  for  American  his- 
tory to  repeat,  in  part  at  least,  this  record  ?  The  ne» 
groes  are  not  breaking  up  politically.  They  draw 
away  from  the  whites  and  have  begun  already  to  be 
an  exclusive  race.  Fifty  years  from  now,  when 
every  negro  can  read  and  write,  when  the  race  has 
increased  in  numbers  and  crowded  itself  upon  a 
smaller  area,  when  it  has  a  literature  of  its  own  and 
can  show  in  black  and  white  its  own  story  of  its 
wrongs,  —  what  will  you  do  tlien  ?  " 

"  That's  not  a  fair  argument  —  not  a  fair  way  of 
talking.  The  Saxons  were  white.  The  nigger  is 
black  and  you  cannot  show  in  all  the  history  of  the 
world  an  instance  where  a  race  of  black  men  have 
ever  proved  themselves  capable  of  coping  with  white 
men,  or  of  forming  a  literature. 

"  You  speak  from  a  theorist's  point  of  view.  You 
don't  understand  the  nigger,  how  ignorant  he  is,  and 
how  easy  it  is  for  us  to  manage  him.  Niggers  are 
the  cleverest  people  in  the  world,  but  they  are  good 
for  nothing  but  work.  Understand  me,  I  don't  want 
tlie  nigger  to  go  back  to  slavery,  but  I  want  him  to 
keep  in  his  place.  What  he  did  in  the  days  of  the 
'Radical'  rule  shows  that  he  is  incapable  of  gov- 
erning." 

"  But  how  can  you  tell  by  the  conduct  of  tlie 
negro  at  that  time,   what  he   is  capable  of  doing? 


THE   NEGRO  QUESTION  253 

You  remember  perhaps  that  familiar  quotation  from 
Macaulay's  Essay  on  Milton  :  — '  Till  men  have  been 
some  time  free  they  know  not  how  to  use  their  free- 
dom. The  final  and  permanent  fruits  of  liberty  are 
wisdom,  moderation,  and  mercy.  Its  immediate 
effects  are  often  atrocious  crimes,  conflicting  errors, 
dogmatism  on  points  the  most  mysterious.  It  is  just 
at  this  crisis  that  its  enemies  love  to  exhibit  it  .  .  . 
and  ask  in  scorn  where  the  promised  splendor  and 
comfort  is  to  be  found.'  Xow  why  is  not  this  true 
in  the  case  of  the  negro  government  ?  " 

And  so  the  two  men  would  discuss,  neither  convin- 
cing the  other,  and  each  one  proving  his  own  idea  to 
his  own  satisfaction. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

AUNT  jinny's   favorite    STORY 

The  warm,  pleasant  weather  continued  all  through 
November  and  to  within  two  weeks  of  Christmas. 
It  seemed  strange  enough  to  John  and  Nellie  to 
think  of  eating  their  dinner  at  Thanksgiving  with 
the  doors  wide  open  and  the  sun  shining  hotly  on 
them.  At  home,  Thanksgiving  usually  came  with  a 
white  mantle  of  snow  or  a  rough  overcoat  of  frozen 
earth.  Thanksgiving  is  the  great  day  of  New  Eng- 
land country  life.  City  people  prefer  Christmas,  but 
the  plain,  honest  folks  who  wrest  their  living  from 
the  rocky  hillside  farms  hold  to  the  old  Puritan 
holiday.  It  is  the  day  when  great  families  come  to- 
gether, when  old  scenes  are  pictured,  old  stories  are 
told,  old  memories  are  brushed  to  life,  when  the 
golden  grains  of  the  past  are  brought  from  beneath 
the  dust  of  years.  The  social  nature  of  the  Thanks- 
giving celebration  somehow  appeals  to  the  lonely 
country  life  as  Christmas  never  can. 

Thanksgiving  was  a  very  thoughtful  time  for  John 
and  Nellie.  It  was  the  anniversary  of  their  marriage. 
All  the  old  da3^s  were  brought  to  their  minds.  They 
did  their  best  to  appear  merry  and  thankful  for  the 
sake  of  the  little  girl,  but  it  was  hard  work.  How 
gladly  would  they  have  changed  this  great  planta- 

254 


AUNT  jinny's   favorite   STORY  255 

tion  and  the  beautiful  weather  for  the  rocky  old 
farm  at  home.  Go  where  he  will,  improve  his  cir- 
cumstances as  he  may,  the  New  England  man  can 
never  repress  the  yearning  for  the  rough  old  hills 
that  seem  so  dull  and  barren  to  a  stranger. 

A  short  time  before  Christmas,  a  heavy  rain  set  in 
that  seemed,  in  a  few  hours,  to  double  the  distance 
between  the  plantation  and  the  town.  The  road 
was  changed  into  a  mass  of  deep  mud  through  which 
an  empty  wagon  could  hardly  be  pulled.  The  little 
family  seemed  to  be  shut  out  from  the  rest  of  the 
world.  John  was  obliged  to  make  his  trips  into 
town  on  horseback.  He  would  come  back  completely 
covered  with  mud,  longing  for  the  frozen  ground 
and  packed  snow  of  a  New  England  winter. 

As  Christmas  drew  near,  the  negroes  began  to 
show  signs  of  an  increased  jollity  and  merriment. 
Even  Sol  and  his  mother  joined  in  the  fun. 

Aunt  Jinny  told  little  Nellie  a  series  of  such  re- 
markable stories  that  the  child  came  to  have  an 
entirely  new  idea  of  Christmas  and  Santa  Glaus. 
She  had  lost  considerable  faith  in  the  old  story  the 
year  before  at  home,  when  by  an  accident  she  dis- 
covered that  Uncle  Nathan  had  endeavored  to  take 
the  place  of  old  Saint  Nick.  Aunt  Jinny's  stories 
put  such  a  new  face  upon  the  matter  that  the  little 
girl  resolved  to  give  Santa  Glaus  another  fair  trial. 
Aunt  Jinny  could  not  understand  much  about  little 
Nellie's  description  of  the  reindeer  and  sledge  that 
formed  so  important  a  part  of  the  Christmas  proces- 
sion. Snow  and  ice  were  unknown  to  her.  Santa 
Claus  came  through  the  mud  on  a  stout  mule  or  in  a 


256  ANDERSON  VILLE   VIOLETS 

hack.  The  deer  and  tlie  sledge  were  entirely  out  of 
place. 

"  I  reckon  dey's  a  heap  ob  folks,  honey,  dat  done 
know  nnffin'  about  dese  tings.  I  reckon  dera  raindeer 
ud  git  stuck  mighty  bad  in  de  murd.  I  knows  a 
heap  about  Santa  Claus,  I  does,  bekase  I  heard  all 
about  de  man  what  done  seen  him  onct." 

''Tell  me  all  about  it.  Aunt  Jinny,"  little  Kellie 
would  say,  bringing  her  chair  up  to  the  side  of  the 
old  slave. 

"  Well,  honey,  I  reckon  it  ud  take  a  heap  ob  time 
ter  tell  all  about  it.  'Pears  like  I'd  better  tell  about 
one  p'int  at  a  time.  Whar  you  reckon  I'd  better 
begin  ?  " 

The  little  girl,  after  much  thought,  would  at  last 
decide  upon  some  "p'int." 

"  What  do  people  hang  up  their  stockin's  for, 
Aunt  Jinny  ?  "  Nellie  soon  came  to  know  that  this 
was  Aunt  Jinny's  favorite  story. 

"  What  make  dey  hang  up  dere  stockin's  ?  " 

Aunt  Jinny  was  in  her  glory,  surely,  when  this 
point  was  raised.  She  claimed  to  be  one  of  the  very 
few  people  in  the  world  who  could  answer  this  lead- 
ing question.  She  never  would  impart  the  coveted 
information  except  to  those  who  she  felt  sure  would 
make  good  use  of  it. 

"What  make  dey  will  hang  up  dere  stockin's? 
Wall,  chile,  dere  is  a  mighty  cur'us  story  about  dat. 
Hit's  de  cur'uses  story  dey  zs,  I  reckon.  I  reckon  I's 
hev  ter  tell  yer,  chile,  bekase  youse  gonter  'member 
it,  an'  it  look  like  you  done  git  yo'  idees  sorter  shuck 
up  like,  on  dis  p'int. 


AUNT  jinny's   favorite   STORY  257 

"  Onct  dey  wuz  a  man  dat  lib  'way  back  yunder  in 
de  country.  He  wuz  a  po'  man  —  a  mons'us  po' 
man,  sho'  'nuff.  An'  de  longer  he  lib  de  po'er  he 
git,  tell  bime  by  he  didn't  hab  nuffin'  skersely." 

"  Where  did  he  live  ?  "  the  little  girl  would  ask  in 
breathless  interest.  She  meant  to  mark  the  fatal 
spot  in  her  little  geography,  so  that  papa  never 
would  go  there. 

"  Whar  he  live  at  ?  "  Aunt  Jinny  proposed  to  tell 
one  thing  at  a  time.  "  I  don't  reckon  you'd  know, 
honey,  ef  I  wuz  ter  go  an'  tell  you.  You  jes'  wait 
tell  youse  go  over  de  groun'  an'  den  you'll  know 
sho'  'nuff.  Dis  man  wuz  po'ful  po'  ;  corn  an'  meat 
dey  wuz  'way  up  yunder,  an'  when  Christmas  come 
along,  he  done  hab  nuffin'." 

"  But  why  didn't  he  wait  for  Santa  Claus,  Aunt 
Jinny  ?  " 

"  It's  a-comin'  ter  dat  p'int,  honey,  right  away. 
I  reckon  ole  Santy  Claus  he  jes'  whip  his  mules 
when  he  drive  fru  dat  country.  He  mighty  glad  ter 
git  away  frum  it,  an'  he  make  mighty  few  calls,  I 
reckon.  But  the  night  afo'  Crismus,  dis  po'  man  he 
go  out  ter  git  him  sum  light  wood,  an'  while  he  wuz 
pickin'  it  up,  he  year  somebody  way  off  in  de  swamp 
holler.  De  man  he  ain't  gut  nuffin'  ter  do,  so  he 
sorter  walks  down  ter  de  swamp  fer  ter  see  who  dat 
is.     Who  you  tink  he  fine  down  dere,  honey  ?  " 

'••  It  wasn't  Santa  Claus,  was  it  ?  " 

Aunt  Jinny  felt  a  little  disappointed  to  have  the 
point  of  surprise  thus  taken  out  of  her  story. 

"  I  reckon  it  were  Santy,  sho'  'nuff." 

"  How  did  he  know  who  it  was.  Aunt  Jinny  ?  " 


258  ANDERSON VILLE    VIOLETS 

"  Why,  chile,  dey  is  a  heap  ob  tings  about  Sauty 
Claus  dat  is  difreiit  frum  odder  people.  I  reckon 
youd  know  him  de  minnit  you  see  him,  an'  den 
agin,  I  reckon  he  tole  dat  po'  man  who  he  wuz. 
You  see,  honey,  Santy  were  stuck  in  de  murd.  His 
hack  wuz  'way  up  to  de  hubs  in  de  road,  an'  one 
mule  wuz  kickiii'  while  de  odder  wuz  backin'  up 
agin  de  hack.  It  were  a  hard  place  fer  Santy,  sho' 
'nuff,  fer  he  had  a  heap  ob  groun'  to  cover  yit.  Dat 
po'  man  he  stan'  by,  wid  his  ban's  in  his  pockets,  an' 
sorter  watch  der  doin's.  Bime  by  he  ask  Santy 
Claus  have  he  gut  nary  a  piece  ob  terbarker.  Dat 
sorter  interjuice  'em,  like,  an'  Santy  he  up  en'  say 
dat  his  hack  wuz  full  ob  tricks,  an'  dat  he'd  fill  up 
enyting  dat  po'  man  had  ef  he'd  help  him  out. 

*'  Dat  po'  man  he  look  in  dat  hack,  an'  he  see  a 
heap  ob  tings  dat  he  wanted.  He  sorter  made  up 
his  mind  what  was  what.  He  talk  mighty  brash  at 
dem  mules,  but  de  mo'  he  talk  de  mo'  dey  pull  back. 
Den  he  borry  Santy 's  knife,  an'  cut  him  a  big  pule  in 
de  woods,  an'  while  Santy  he  push  agin  de  back  ob 
de  hack,  dat  po'  man  he  jes'  tan  de  hides  on  deni 
mules  po'ful,  till  dey  pull  togedder,  an'  jes'  yank 
dat  hack  outer  de  murd.  You  jes'  orter  see  deni 
mules  pull,  honey." 

"But  wasn't  it  too  bad  that  they  had  to  whip 
them  so  ?  "  said  the  dear  little  girl. 

"No,  I  don't  reckon  it  wuz.  Mules  is  mighty 
ornery.  I  reckon  dey  ain't  nuffin'  but  lickin'  will 
do  'em  eny  good.  Dey  is  a  heap  ob  folks,  honey, 
dat  is  jes'  like  mules  about  dat.  Ole  Santy  Claus 
he  mightily  tickled  about  de  way  he  git  outer  dat 


AUNT  jinny's   favorite   STORY  259 

miircl,  an'  when  he  come  to  de  po'  man's  house,  he 
say,  '  Now  you  jes'  bring  out  de  biggest  ting  you  gut, 
an'  I'll  fill  it  up.' 

"Dat  po'  man  he  mighty  sharp,  I  reckon.  He 
done  scratch  his  head,  an'  den  he  bring  out  a  big 
stockin'.  Ole  Santy  Claus  he  tink  he  git  out  miglity 
easy,  but  when  he  come  with  his  truck,  he  fine  dere 
is  a  mighty  big  hole  in  de  heel  ob  dat  stockin'.  All 
de  truck  run  fru  the  hole,  an'  take  mighty  nigh  all 
dey  is  in  de  hack  ter  fill  it  up." 

"  That  man  didn't  do  right,  did  he,  Aunt  Jinny?  " 

"  Wall,  chile,  dat's  a  mighty  hard  question,  dat  is. 
Dere's  a  heap  ob  folks  dat  ud  'a'  done  de  same  ting 
—  an'  mighty  good  folks,  too,  I  reckon.  Dat  po' 
man  he  uz  mighty  tickled  about  de  way  he  beat  ole 
Santy  Claus,  an'  he  tole  all  de  folk  dey  cud  do  de 
same  ting.  When  Santy  he  come'  along  de  nex' 
time,  he  fine  all  de  holy  stockin's  hung  up  fer  'im 
ter  fill.  Hit  mighty  nigh  busted  ole  Santy  ter  fill 
'em  up.  Santy  he  sorter  figgered  on  de  ting,  an'  he 
see  dat  dere  weren't  no  money  in  dem  holy  stock- 
in's, so  he  say  dat  he  gib  a  prize  to  de  one  dat  hung 
up  de  bes'-lookin'  stockin'. 

"Santy  Claus  he  mighty  sharp,  I  reckon.  Every- 
body goes  in  fer  de  prize  an'  all  de  holy  stockin's  is 
sorter  patched  up  like.  So,  honey,  done  yo'  nebber 
hang  up  no  holy  stockin's,  but  jest  take  de  bes'  one 
yo'  hab.'* 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

FADED   FLOWERS   OF  AXDERSONVILLE 

Jack  Foster  had  promised  to  eat  his  Christmas 
dinner  with  John  and  Nellie. 

The  day  had  always  been  a  melancholy  one  with 
him,  bringing  back,  as  it  did,  tlie  memories  of  hap- 
pier days.  He  hoped  for  a  pleasant  time  with  his 
new  friends,  but  he  hardly  dared  to  hope  for  the  great 
happiness  that  the  beautiful  holiday  brought  him. 
Jack  had  been  a  little  ill.  He  caught  a  severe  cold 
at  the  opening  of  the  rainy  season.  Three  days  before 
Christmas  he  rode  back  from  town  through  a  severe 
rain.  He  stopped  at  the  plantation,  and  was  easily 
induced  to  stay  to  supper.  His  head  ached  and  he 
grew  hot  and  cold  by  turns.  He  was  surprised  to 
find  how  weak  he  was  when  he  rose  to  go  home. 
He  almost  fell  as  he  stag^orered  to  the  door.  Nellie 
quickly  saw  that  Jack  was  a  sick  man.  She  insisted 
upon  his  staying  all  night,  and  Jack,  after  one  be- 
wildered look  at  the  blackness  and  rain,  helplessly 
consented. 

"  I  shall  be  all  right  in  the  morning,  I  reckon,"  he 
said,  as  John  led  him  back  to  a  seat  by  the  fire. 
They  all  thought  this,  but  when  the  morning  came, 
Jack  was  unable  to  stand.  He  lay  in  a  daze,  with 
his  eyes  wide  open,   muttering    and  whispering   to 

260 


FADED  FLOWERS  OF  ANDERSONVILLE  261 

some  imaginary  person.  He  roused  for  a  time  and 
seemed  to  know  John,  but  at  last  the  look  of  intelli- 
gence faded  out  of  his  eyes,  and  he  lay  vacantly 
staring  at  the  wall  as  before. 

John  and  Nellie  grew  frightened  as  the  hours 
went  by  and  Jack  never  ceased  staring  and  mutter- 
ing. They  could  not  understand  what  he  said,  but 
Nellie  could  imagine,  for  there  was  one  name  that 
was  always  pronounced  more  distinctly  than  the  rest 
—  it  was  Lucy.  At  last  John  sent  Sol  for  a  horse 
that  he  might  ride  to  town  after  a  doctor.  The  rain 
was  still  pouring  down,  and  the  road  was  a  great 
mass  of  mud,  but  John  did  not  think  of  this  at  all. 
As  Sol  brought  the  horse  up  to  the  door,  an  old 
negro  woman  came  up  from  the  gate.  She  was 
drenched  with  the  rain  and  covered  with  mud,  but 
she  hobbled  bravely  up  to  the  door. 

"  Whar's  Massa  Jack  at  ? "  she  asked,  peering 
dimly  about  her.  "I's  his  ole  mammy,  I  is  done 
nuss  him,  an'  'pears  like  dey  ain't  nobody  kin  take 
car  ob  him  like  I  kin.  Whar  is  he  at.  Missy?  I 
reckon  I  can't  lib  no  longer  if  Massa  Jack  die." 

Nellie  brought  the  poor  old  woman  in  and  gave 
her  a  seat  by  the  fire.  Old  Mammy  dried  herself  as 
hastily  as  possible,  and  then  asked  again  to  see  Jack. 

"  I  knows  a  heap  mo'  about  Massa  Jack  dan  eny 
one  else  do,"  she  explained,  and  so  it  proved,  for 
when  Nellie  led  the  old  woman  to  Jack's  room  she 
was  surprised  to  see  how  quickly  old  Mammy  under- 
stood what  to  do. 

The  old  slave  watched  her  master  as  a  dog  might 
have  done.     Jack  turned  his  vacant  eyes  upon  her, 


262  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

and  something  like  a  gleam  of  intelligence  passed 
over  his  face.  Mammy  sat  down  by  the  bed  and 
placed  her  hand  on  Jack's  head. 

*'  I  reckon  you'd  better  send  fo'  ole  Massa  Law- 
rence," she  muttered  to  Xellie.  "  'Pears  like  he 
know  about  Massa  Jack  like  nobody  else  do." 

John  was  just  mounting  his  horse  as  Nellie  came 
down  and  told  him  of  old  Mammy  and  her  advice. 
Mr.  Lawrence  was  the  old  gentleman  that  John  had 
met  at  the  hotel.  Jack  had  often  spoken  of  him  as 
an  old  physician  and  friend  of  his  father's.  John 
decided  to  follow  old  Mammy's  advice.  He  rode 
down  to  the  gate  and  turned  past  Colonel  Fair's 
place.  An  hour  later  he  returned  with  Mr.  Law- 
rence. The  old  gentleman  came  at  once  when  John 
told  his  story.  He  had  known  Jack  from  his  earli- 
est childhood,  and  had  treated  him  for  many  a  seri- 
ous illness. 

The  two  men  were  covered  Avith  mud  and 
drenched  through  with  the  rain.  They  dried  them- 
selves before  the  fire,  and  then  the  older  man  went 
above  into  the  room  where  old  Mammy  was  watch- 
ing her  "boy."  John  and  Xellie  waited  anxiously 
fur  the  report.  They  read  it  in  the  grave  and  sor- 
rowful face  that  Mr.  Lawrence  brought  back  from 
the  sick-room. 

"  It  is  a  very  serious  case.  I  am  afraid  he  will 
have  a  hard  struggle  for  life.  There  has  been  some- 
thing on  his  mind  for  years  that  has  tortured  him 
continually.  He  is  thinking  of  it  now,  and  unless 
something  can  be  done  to  drive  it  from  his  mind,  I 
do  not  think   my  medicine  can  ever  help  him.     I 


FADED  FLOWERS  OF  ANDERSONVILLE  263 

speak  plainly,  for  I  think  you  know,  judging  from 
what  you  said  to-day,  what  this  matter  is.  I  have 
known  it  for  a  long  time,  though  I  never  told  John 
Foster  that  it  was  so.  She  told  me  about  it  years 
ago.  I  feel  that  I  am  free  to  speak  of  it  now,  for  the 
end  that  I  have  been  fearing  seems  to  have  begun." 

Nellie's  eyes  were  filled  with  tears,  and  even  John's 
strong  hand  shook  as  he  brought  a  chair  for  the  visi- 
tor. How  well  they  understood  what  awful  thoughts 
were  filling  the  brain  of  the  sick  man.  John  and 
Nellie  had  but  to  place  themselves  in  his  position. 
The  older  man  found  that  sweet  romance  of  his 
youth  forcing  itself  into  his  heart  again. 

Nellie  quietly  stole  from  the  room  at  last  to  dry 
her  eyes.  Something  seemed  to  draw  her  to  the 
chamber,  where,  with  dazed  brain,  the  sick  man  was 
lying.  She  entered  softly,  and  sat  in  one  gray, 
shadowy  corner  to  think.  The  gloom  of  the  dismal 
day  seemed  to  force  itself  into  the  silent  chamber. 
Old  Mammy  sat  at  the  head  of  the  bed,  rocking  her- 
self to  and  fro,  and  muttering  some  old  song  that  had 
hushed  the  sick  man  years  before.  Jack  lay  in  the 
old  position,  with  his  eyes  wide  open  and  his  chin 
fallen.  His  hands  worked  occasionally,  and  once 
they  were  raised  in  a  gesture  of  entreaty,  but  in  an 
instant  they  fell  feebly  down.  Jack's  muttering 
was  louder  and  more  distinct  than  before.  Nellie 
could  easily  understand  him  now.  His  words 
seemed  to  cut  her  very  heart,  and  she  listened  with 
streaming  eyes  as  she  thought  how  this  man  had 
suffered  for  her. 

''  He'll  do  it,  I  reckon,"  the  sick  man  muttered. 


264  ANDERSONVILLE  VIOLETS 

"  That  little  one  don't  know  what  he's  saying.  Sup- 
pose Lucy's  brother  should  ask  me  to  do  that.  I 
reckon  Fd  do  it  —  but  I  must  shoot  him." 

One  hand  was  raised  slightly,  and  the  eyes  opened 
wider  than  before. 

"  I  couldn't  do  it "  —  the  voice  trembled  a  little. 
"  My  dear  little  woman,  I  know  you  wouldn't  have 
me  shoot  him.  I'm  glad  you  looked  at  me  as  you 
did." 

He  was  silent  for  a  time,  but  at  last  he  reached 
out  his  hand,  as  if  in  the  act  of  picking  something 
from  the  bed. 

"  I'll  take  this  anyhow,  I  reckon.  Poor  little 
chap.  How  much  he  looked  like  her.  I'll  carry 
this  to  her,  I  reckon.  I'm  glad,  after  all,  I  didn't 
shoot  him." 

His  voice  died  away  in  a  whisper,  and  he  went  on 
so  low  that  Nellie  could  not  hear  him.  At  last  he 
said,  in  almost  a  shout,  "  My  dear  little  woman, 
listen  to  me.  I  do  love  you  —  I'll  sell  my  soul  for 
you.     I  did  it  because  I  loved  you  —  because  I  loved 

you." 

Nellie  could  not  listen  longer.  She  hurried  away 
with  a  mighty  resolution  in  her  heart.  Old  Mammy 
followed  her  out. 

"  Yer's  suffin'  fer  youse,  I  reckon.  Missy.  Massa 
Jack  sorter  reckoned  dat  it  uz  you's.  I  foun'  it  on 
de  flo',  near  whar  his  coat  is  at." 

How  the  old  woman  had  read  the  sick  man's 
thoughts  no  one  can  tell.  Nellie  opened  the  little 
package.  It  was  an  envelope  filled  with  cotton,  in 
which   was   a   little   bunch   of   dried   violets.      She 


FADED   FLOWERS   OP   ANDERSONVILLE         265 

placed  the  package  in  her  pocket,  and  then  went 
down  to  the  room  where  John  and  Mr.  Lawrence 
were  sitting.  The  men  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  for 
her  purpose  was  written  on  her  face.  She  placed 
her  hand  on  her  husband's  shoulder,  and  said, 
simply  :  — 

"  John,  I  am  going  to  ride  to  town  at  once." 

John  looked  at  her  in  wonder.  She  had  never 
yet  made  a  proposition  that  had  not  been  carried 
out,  but  this  was  so  strange  and  unexpected.  Nellie 
noticed  John's  look  of  wonder,  and  patted  his  cheek 
to  reassure  him. 

^'  I  mean  to  ride  to  town  and  see  Lucy,"  she  said, 
simply.  "  I  shall  never  feel  that  I  have  done  my 
duty  until  I  try  to  show  her  how  he  has  loved  her  all 
these  3'ears.  It  may  do  no  good,  but  I  must  try.  If 
you  could  only  hear  him  talk,  John,"  —  and  the 
brave  little  woman  faltered  as  she  thought  how 
Jack  had  spoken. 

Mr.  Lawrence  rose  from  his  seat,  and  grasped 
Nellie's  hand. 

"  God  bless  you,  madam,"  he  said,  huskily.  "  You 
are  a  noble  woman.  Your  husband  has  told  me  all 
the  story.-  I  hope  and  pray  that  you  may  succeed. 
She  has  always  loved  him,  I  know  —  it  is  her  pride 
that  holds  her  back.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  to  do. 
You  are  a  woman,  and  know  far  better  than  I  how 
to  reach  a  woman's  heart.  I  know  it  is  a  matter  of 
life  or  death  with  John  Foster,  and  I  think  I  know 
how  you  long  to  bring  him  happiness." 

"But  I  must  go  with  you,"  said  John,  sturdily. 

"  No,   John,"  said  Nellie,  gently.     "  You  cannot 


266  ANDERSONVILLE   VIOLETS 

help   me  in   tins  —  stay  here   and  wait  for  me.     I 
shall  take  Sol,  and  there  will  be  no  danger  at  all." 

She  made  her  preparations  as  qnickly  as  pos- 
sible. Sol  brought  the  horses  to  the  door.  The  rain 
glistened  on  the  negro's  heavy  face  as  he  glanced 
down  the  road. 

"  Don't  you  let  nothin'  touch  her,  Sol,"  said  John, 
as  he  went  out  to  inspect  the  horses. 

"I  reckon  I'd  die  fust,  boss,"  said  the  negro. 
He  opened  his  coat,  and  showed  the  bright  handle  of 
a  revolver. 

"  Please  let  me  go  with  you,  Nellie ! "  pleaded 
John,  as  his  wife  came  to  the  door  all  ready  for  the 
ride. 

"  No,  John,"  she  answered,  gently.  "  I  must  do 
this  alone  —  this  is  nothing  to  what  you  did  for  me 
once  "  —  and  she  smiled  up  at  him  to  try  and  liide 
the  tears  that  would  force  themselves  into  her  eyes. 
She  kissed  little  Nellie,  and  shook  hands  with  Mr. 
Lawrence.  When  she  came  to  John  he  gathered  her 
up  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  again  and  again,  and 
carried  her  to  the  horse.  With  one  last  word  of 
caution  to  Sol,  John  reluctantly  withdrew  his  hand 
from  the  bridle  of  his  wife's  horse,  and  then,  into 
the  early  twilight  that  came  creeping  darkly  upon 
them,  they  rode  away  upon  their  errand  of  love. 
John  and  Mr.  Lawrence  waited  at  the  gate  —  heed- 
less of  the  rain  and  storm  ■ —  till  the  slow  toiling 
liorses  passed  out  of  sight  behind  the  trees.  Then 
they  went  sadly  back  to  the  house. 

"  Your  wife  is  an  angel  —  God  bless  lier,"  said  the 
older  man,  with  a  strange  tremor  in  liis  voice,  as  he 


FADED  FLOWERS   OF   ANDERSONVILLE  267 

shook  John's  hand.  "  She  is  strangely  like  one  I 
knew  years  ago,  in  New  England.  Is  she  like  her 
mother  ?  " 

"Very  much,"  answered  John.  "  The  same  hair 
and  eyes,  and  the  same  face." 

The  old  gentleman  smiled  sadly  as  he  listened. 
He  said  no  more,  but  his  head  fell  on  his  breast  as 
he  sat  watching  the  fire.  At  last,  he  rose  to  go  to 
the  sick  man's  room. 

"  I  have  to  thank  your  wife  and  yourself,"  he  said, 
w^ith  old-fashioned  courtesy,  as  he  shook  John's  hand 
again,  "for  a  great  happiness  that  you  cannot  under- 
stand. There  are  many  things  in  our  lives  that  we 
cannot  always  explain  or  understand,  yet  I  think  we 
are  able  to  see  at  last,  that  under  every  fancied 
wrong  there  lies  a  blessing  that  must  gain  in 
strength  as  the  years  go  by." 

He  bowed  gravely,  and  passed  out  at  the  door  and 
went  to  the  sick-room,  where  Jack  lay,  with  vacant 
eyes,  still  muttering  the  old  story. 

The  gloom  came  settling  down  over  the  house.  It 
crept  in  at  the  windows  and  gathered  about  the  sick- 
bed. The  savage  fire  on  the  hearth  snapped  bravely 
at  the  intruder,  and  sent  its  sparks  out  to  man  the 
outworks.  Still  the  gloom  deepened,  and  still  the 
old  gentleman  sat  with  bowed  head,  thinking  of 
Nellie's  mother.  In  the  other  room,  with  little  Nel- 
lie on  his  knee,  John  sat  praying  for  his  wife's  safe 
return.  No  wonder  that  the  little  girl,  when  she 
said  her  prayers  that  night,  added :  "  God  bess  my 
mamma,  an'  please  let  her  come  home  all  safe." 

The  anxious  watcher  waited  far  into  the  night. 


268  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

The  fire  snapped  and  snarled  at  the  darkness,  the 
old  slave  still  crooned  by  the  bed,  and  the  sick  man 
still  talked  vacantly  on.  At  last,  John  caught  the 
gleam  of  a  lantern  far  down  the  dark  road.  It 
turned  in  at  the  gate.  A  splashing  in  the  mud  and 
water  followed,  and  John  rushed  out  into  the  storm, 
hardly  daring  to  speak  for  fear  lest  Kellie  had 
failed. 

Covered  with  mud,  his  black  face  shining  in  the 
light,  Sol  stood  holding  two  horses.  The  tired 
beasts  hung  their  heads  wearily. 

John's  heart  gave  a  great  throb  of  joy,  as  he  saw 
two  faces  in  the  dim  light.  Nellie  smiled  at  him  with 
the  face  of  an  angel.  The  other  face  was  white  and 
still  —  ghastly  in  the  light.  John  silently  lifted  the 
women  from  the  horses.  He  carried  Nellie,  and  half 
led,  half  carried  Lucy  to  the  hall.  There  Nellie's 
courage  gave  way.  She  laid  her  head  on  John's 
breast  and  sobbed  like  a  little  child.  Her  brave 
task  was  ended,  she  was  only  a  woman  now. 

Lucy  steadied  herself  against  the  door.  Her  face 
was  pale  as  death.  Her  black  hair,  wet  with  the 
rain,  fell  about  her  shoulders.  Her  eyes  were  filled 
with  a  strange  light  as  she  looked  at  John  inqui- 
ringly. He  understood  her,  and  pointed  silently  to 
the  room  where  Jack  was  lying.  She  walked  with  a 
firm  step  to  the  door  and  noiselessly  opened  it. 
Gently  she  crossed  the  floor  and  knelt  at  the  side  of 
the  bed  where  old  Mammy  was  sitting. 

"  Dear  Jack,"  she  whispered,  "  I  do  love  you,  and 
I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  forgive  me.  You  are  no- 
bler and  truer  than  I  knew." 


FADED  FLOWERS  OF  ANDERSONVILLE  269 

The  vacant  face  slowly  turned  to  her.  She  bent 
forward  and  kissed  him.  A  flash  of  intelligence 
gleamed  in  the  staring  eyes,  and  he  said,  in  a  clear 
tone,  as  his  feeble  arm  passed  about  her  neck  :  "  My 
dear  little  girl,  I  did  it  because  I  loved  you." 

There  is  little  more  that  we  can  say.  We  cannot 
tell  how  Lucy's  proud  heart  melted  when  the  little 
Northern  woman  knelt  before  her,  and  told  the 
story  of  the  Andersonville  Violets.  The  curl,  the 
letter,  and  the  faded  flowers  touched  her,  and  the 
love  that  she  had  fought  down  for  years  mastered 
her  at  last.  Back  through  the  wild  night  they  came. 
Back  through  the  gloom  and  darkness  to  save  a  life. 
For  Jack  did  not  die.  How  could  he  die  when  the 
gates  of  an  earthly  paradise  swung  open  that  he 
might  better  fit  himself  for  that  higher  one  ? 

The  four  people  whose  lives  have  been  thus 
strangely  brought  together  live  on  through  many 
years  of  happiness.  Jack  and  Lucy  grow  closer  and 
closer  together  as  the  years  trail  past  them. 

John  and  Nellie  live  the  same  self-sacrificin<2:  lives. 
They  live  for  little  Nellie.  The  years  bring  them 
prosperity,  but  they  are  glad  only  that  they  can  do 
more  for  their  little  one.  The  old  lonoringr  for  home 
never  dies  out.  They  can  never  forget  that  they 
are  "strangers  in  a  strange  land."  That  mighty 
gulf  that  opens  between  the  two  sections  can  never 
be  bridged  in  their  lifetime.  Even  their  little  girl 
must  be  sent  away  to  be  educated.  But  patiently 
and  trustingly  they  work  on,  thanking  God  that 
they  are  permitted  to  develop  so  grandly  the  beau- 


270  ANDERSON VILLE   VIOLETS 

tiful  little  life  he  has  given  them,  and  treasured 
above  all  else,  binding  their  hearts  closer  together, 
filling  their  lives  with  the  sweet  perfume  of  romance, 
Nellie  still  keeps  the  little  bunch  of  faded  flowers 
that  have  brought  so  much  misery  and  yet  so  much 
happiness  —  the  Andersonville  Violets, 


DoIfl8NO£8iii:.:j 

A   WOMAN'S    INHERITANCE. 

"  MiBS  Douglas's  Novels  are  all  worth  reading,  and  this  is  one  full  of 
Btiggesiions,  interesting  situations,  and  bright  dialogue." — Cottage  Hearth. 
OUT  OF  THE  WRECK;  or.  Was,  it  a  Victory? 
"  Bright  and  entertaining  as  Miss  Douglas's  stories  always  are,  this, 
her  new  one,  leads  them  all."  — Xew  Bedford  Standard, 
FLOYD    GRANDON'S    HONOR. 
*•  Fascinating  throughout,  and  worthy  of  the  reputation  of  the  author." 

WHOM    KATHIE    MARRIED. 
Kathie  was  the  heroine  of  the  popular  series  of  Kalhie  Stories  for 
young  people,  the  readers  of  which  were  very  anxious  to   know   with 
whom  Kathie  settled  down  in  life.    Heuce  this  story,  charmingly  written. 
LO.ST    IN    A    GREAT   CITY. 
"  There  are  the  power  of  delineation  and  robustness  of  expression  that 
would  credit  a  masculine  hand  in  the  present  volume. 

THE    OLD    WOMAN    WHO    LIVED    IN    A    SHOE. 
"The  romances  of  Mis^  Douglas's  creation  are  all  thrillingiy  interest- 
ing." — Cambridge  Tribune. 

HOPE    MILLS ;   or.  Between  Friend  and  Sweetheart. 
"  Amanda  Douglas  is  one  of  the  favorite  authors  of  American  uovel- 
readers."  —  Manchester  Mirr  r. 

FROM    HAND    TO    MOUTH. 
*•  There  is  real  satisfaction  in  reading  this  book,  from  the  fact  that  we 
can  so  readily  '  take  it  home '  to  ourselves."  —  Portland  Argus. 
NELLY    KINNARD'S    KINGDOM. 
"  The  Hartford  Religious  Herald  "  says,  "  This  story  is  so  fascinating, 
thai  one  can  hardly  lay  it  down  after  taking  it  up." 

IN    TRUST;   or,  Dr.  Bertrand's  Household. 
"  She  writes  in  a  free,  fresh  and  natural  way,  and  her  characters  ar« 
never  overdrawn."  —  Manchester  Mirror. 
CLAUDIA. 
"  The  plot  is  very  dramatic,  and  the  denouement  startling.    Claudia,  the 
heroine,  is  one  of  those  self-sacriticing  characters  which  it  is  the  glory  of 
the  female  sex  to  produce."  —  Boston  Journal. 
STEPHEN    DANE. 
"This  is  one  of  this  author's  happiest  and  most  successful  attempts  at 
novel-writing,  for  which  a  grateful  public  will  applaud  her."  —  Herald. 
HOME    NOOK;  or,  The  Crown  of  Duty. 
"  An  interesting  story  of  home-life,  not  wanting  in  incident,  and  wriU 
ten  in  forcible  and  attractive  style."  —  Xew  York  Graphic. 

SYDNIE    ADRIANCE;  or.  Trying  the  World. 
"  The  works  of  Miss  Douglas  have  stood  the  test  of  popular  judgment, 
and  become  the  fashion. 

SEVEN    DAUGHTERS. 
The  charm  of  the  story  is  the  perfectly  natural  and  home-like  air  which 
pervades  it. 

THE    FORTUNES  OF   THE  FARADATS 
"  Of  unexceptionable  literary  merit,  deeply  interesting  in  the  develop- 
ment of  the  plot."  — i^a//  River  Neics. 

FOES   OF   HER   HOUSEHOLD 
"  Full  of  interest  from  the  first  chapter  to  the  end." 


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A    BOSTON    GIRL'S    AMBITIONS 

"There  is  nothiog  of  the  '  seneatioual,'  or  so-called  realistic  school,  in 
her  writings.     On  the  contrary,  they  are  noted  for  their  healthy  rnorsj 
tone  and  pure  sentiment,  and  yet  are  not  wanting  in  striking  situa- 
tions AND  DRAMATIC  INCIDENTS."  —Chicago  Journal. 
BUT    A    PHILISTINE 

"The  moral  lessons,  the  true  life  principles  taught  in  this  book,  render 
it  one  which  it  is  a  pleasure  to  recommend  for  its  stimulating  influence 
upon  the  higher  nature.    Its  literary  quality  is  fiue." 
LENOX    DARE 

"Among  the  best  of  her  productions  we  place  the  volume  here  under 
notice.  In  temper  and  tone  the  work  is  calculated  to  exert  a  healthful 
and  elevating  influence,  and  tends  to  bring  the  reader  into  more  intimat* 
•yropathy  with  what  is  most  pure  and  noble  in  our  nature."  —  New-Eng' 
land  Methodist. 

DARYLL    GAP;    or.  Whether  it   Paid 

"A  story  of  the  petroleum  days,  and  of  a  family  who  struck  oil.     Her 
plots  are  well   arranged,  and   her  characters  are  clearly  and   strongly 
J'rawn."  —  Pittsburg  Recorder. 
A    WOMAN'S    WORD,    AND    HOW    SHE    KEPT    IT 

'•The  celebrity  of  Virginia  F.  Townsend  as  an  authoress,  her  brilliant 
desCiiptive  powers,  and  pure,  vigorous  imagination,  will  insure  a  hearty 
welcome  for  the  above-entitled  volume  in  the  writer's  happiest  veiu."  — 
Fashion  Quarterly. 

THAT    QUEER    GIRL 

"A  fresh,  wholesome  book  about  good  men  and  good  women,  bright 
»nd  cheery  in  style,  and  pure  in  morals.     Just  the  book  to  take  a  young 
girl's  fancy,  and  help  her  to  grow  up,  like  Madeline  and  Argia,  into  the 
•weetnesB  of  real  girlhood,"  — P^r»/)/e**  Monthly. 
ONLY    GIRLS 

"This  volume  shows  how  two  persons,  *  only  girls,' saved  two  men 
trom  crime,  even  from  ruin  of  body  and  soul.  The  story  is  ingenious  and 
graphic,  and  kept  the  writer  of  this  notice  up  far  into  the  small  hours  of 
yesterday  morning."  —  Washington  Chronicle. 


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THE  DEERINGS  OF  MEDBURY 

THE  MILLS  OF  TUXBURY 

"  There  is  a  fascination  about  the  stories  of  Miss  Townsend  that  gives 
them  a  firm  hold  upon  the  public,  their  chief  charm  being  their  simplicity 
and  fidelity  to  nature."—  Commonwealth. 

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U,  '  "  NOVELS '  '  '  UNIFORM  EdITIGN 

FARNELL'S  FOLLY. 

"  Aa  a  Novel  of  American  Society,  this  book  has  never  been  surpassed. 
Hearty  in  style  and  wholesome  in  tone.  Its  pathos  often  meltingj  to 
tears,  its  humor  always  exciting  merriment." 

CUDJO'S    CAVE. 

Like  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  this  thrilling  story  was  a  stimulatJno 
power  in  the  civil  war,  and  had  an  immem^e  sale.  Secretary  Chase,  of 
President  Lincoln's  cabinet,  said  of  it,  "1  could  not  help  reading  it :  it 
Interested  and  impressed  me  profoundly.  ' 

THE    THREE    SCOUTS. 

Another  popular  book  of  the  same  stamp,  of  which  "  The  Boston  Tran- 
script"  said,  "It  promifies  to  have  a  larger  sale  than  '  Cudjo's  Cave.* 
It  is  irapostsible  to  open  the  volume  at  any  page  without  being  struck  by 
the  quick  movement  and  pervading  anecdote  of  the  story." 

THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

A  Story  of  Burnside's  Expedition.    Illustrated  by  F.  O.  C.  Darley. 

"  The  most  popular  book  of  the  season.  It  will  sell  without  puehiue.'* 
—  Zion' 8  Herald.  ^  * 

MARTIN    MERRIVALE:    His   X   Mark. 

"  Strong  in  humor,  pathos,  and  unabated  interest.  In  none  of  the  booki 
Issued  from  the  American  press  can  there  be  found  a  purer  or  more  deli- 
cate  sentiment,  a  more  genuine  good  taste,  or  a  nicer  appreciation  and 
brighter  delineation  of  character."  —  Engliis/i  Journal. 

NEIGHBOR    JACKWOOD. 

A  story  of  New-England  life  in  the  slave-tracking  days.  Dramatized 
for  the  Boston  Museum,  it  had  a  long  run  to  crowded  houses.  The  story 
is  one  of  Trowbridge's  very  best. 

COUPON    BONDS,  and  other  Stories. 

The  leading  story  is  undoubtedly  the  most  popular  of  Trowbridge'a 
short  stories.  The  others  are  varied  in  character,  but  are  either  intenesJy 
lutereslinjj  or  "  highly  amusing." 

NEIGHBORS'    WIVES. 

An  ingenious  and  well-told  story.  Two  neighbors'  wives  are  tempted 
beyond  their  strength  to  resist,  and  eteai  ?ach  from  the  other.  One  is 
discovered  in  the  act,  under  ludicrous  and  humiliating  circumstances, 
but  -8  generously  pardoned,  with  a  promise  of  secrecy.  Of  course  sh« 
tif^"!*  her  secret,  and  of  course  perplexities  come.    It  is  a  capital  story. 

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24 


D — Fr  I  Ladies  "P 


BY 

OPULAR 
AUTHORS 


SEVEN   DAUGHTERS. 


By  Miss  A,  M.  Douglas,  Author  of  "In  Trust,"  "Stephen  Dane,"  "Claudia,'' 

"  Sydnic  Adriancc,"  "  Home  Nook,"  "  Nelly  Kennard's  Kingdom." 

ismo,  cloth,  illustrated.     $1.50. 

"  A  charming  romance  of  Girlhood,"  full  of  incident  and  humor.     The  "  Stvea 

Daugnters"  are  characters  which  reappear  in  s"me  of  Miss  Douglas'  later  books.     \n 

this  book  they  form  a  delightful  group,  hovering  on  the  verge  oi"  Womanhood,  with 

all  the  little  perplexities  of  home  life  and  love  dreams  as  incidentals,  making  afrcshanc 

attractive  story. 

OUR   HELEN. 

By  Sophie  May.  lamo,  cloth,  illustrated.  $1.50. 
"  The  story  is  a  very  attractive  one,  as  free  from  the  sensational  and  impossible  as 
could  be  desired,  and  at  the  same  time  full  of  interest,  and  pervaded  by  the  same  bright, 
cheery  sunshine  that  we  find  in  the  author's  earlier  books.  She  is  to  be  congratulated 
On  the  success  of  her  essay  in  a  new  field  of  literature,  to  which  she  will  be  warmly  wel- 
comed by  those  whc  know  and  admire  her  '  Prudy  Books.' "  —  Graphic. 

THE   ASBURY   TWINS. 

By  Sophie  May,  Author  of  "The  Doctor's  Daughter,"  "Our  Helen,"  &c.     lamo, 
cloth,  illustrated.     $1.50. 
"  Has  the  ring  of  genuine  genius,  and  the  sparkle  of  a  gem  of  the  first  water.     We 
read  it  one  cloudy  wmter  day,  and  it  was  as  good  as  a  Turkish  bath,  or  a  three  hours' 
soak  in  the  sunshine." —  Cooperstown  Republican. 

THAT   QUEER   GIRL. 

By  Miss  Virginia  F.  Townsend,  Author  of  "  Only  Girls,"  &c.  izmo,  cloth,  illus- 
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and  the  wooing  and  the  winning  are  as  queer  as  the  heroine.  The  Neiv  Haven 
Register  says:  "  Decidedly  the  best  work  which  has  appeared  from  the  pen  of  Miss 
Townsend." 

RUNNING   TO   WASTZ. 

The  Story  of  a  Tomboy.      By  George  M.  Baker.      i6mo,  cloth,  illustrated. 

$1.50. 
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written,  full  of  humor,  and  good  humor,  and  it  has  not  a  dull  or  uninteresting  pags. 
It  is  lively  and  natural,  and  overflowing  with  the  best  New  England  character  and 
traits.  There  is  also  a  touch  of  pathos,  which  always  accompanies  humor,  in  the  life 
and  death  of  the  tomboy's  mother." — Newburyport  Herald. 

DAISY    TRAVERS; 

Or  the  Girls  of  Hive  Hall.  By  Adelaide  F.  Samuels,  Author  of  "  Dick  and 
Daisy  Stones,"  "  Dick  Travers  Abroad,"  &c.  i6mo,  cloth,  illustrated.  $1.50. 
The  story  of  Hive  Hall  is  full  of  life  and  action,  and  told  in  the  same  happy 
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Daisy  books  to  become  great  favorites  with  the  young.  What  was  said  of  the  younget 
books  can,  with  equal  truth,  be  said  of  Daisy  grown  up. 


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ADVENTURES    OF    A    CHINAMAN      By  Jules  Verne 

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This  is  one  of  the  most  entertaining  of  this  author's  remarkable  stories.  It 
abounds  in  exciting  adventures,  and  in  humorous  situations  excels  all  his  other 
books. 

"  In  this  volume  he  gives  a  full  rein  to  his  lively  fancy,  and  the  result  is  a 
book  that  will  compare  with  any  of  his  preceding  works  in  the  matter  of 
pleasure  to  be  derived  from  its  pages.  The  Flowery  Kingdom  offers  a  fertile 
field  for  a  writer  such  as  he  is,  and  he  has  made  it  the  scene  of  incidents  that 
show  his  fertility  of  invention,  his  keen  sense  of  humor,  and  his  faculty  for 
imparting  valuable  information,  garnished  with  much  that  is  extravagant  and 
only  designed  to  amuse."  —  Budget. 
FIGHTING    PHIL     The   Life  of  Gen.   Philip  H.   Sheridan,  by 

Headlev     With  full-page  illustrations 

"  The  present  volume  is  one  of  the  most  successful  that  the  author  has 
produced.  It  is  the  life-record  of  a  brave  and  good  man,  who  was  honored, 
admired,  and  respected.  Little  Phil  Sheridan  endeared  himself  to  the  hearts 
of  a  nation  whose  offspring  should  learn  the  story  of  his  life.  The  work 
is  very  handsomely  printed,  illustrated  and  bound,  and,  while  it  is  one  of  the 
most  desirable  gifts  for  a  boy,  it  is  a  thoroughly  historical  and  readable  work, 
suitable  for  all  who  wish  to  learn  the  facts  in  the  career  of  a  noble  American 
hero."  —  American  Hebrew. 
PERSEVERANCE    ISLAND    or  The  Robinson   Crusoe   of 

THE  Nineteenth  Century    By  Douglas  Frazar    With  full-page  illus- 
trations 

"  It  is  an  admirably  told  story,  full  to  repletion  of  the  most  exciting  adven- 
ture. Its  author  was  cast  away  alone  upon  a  desolate  island  in  mid-ocean, 
and  all  his  shipmates  lost.  The  writing  is  a  histor>'  of  his  life  and  adventures. 
This  history  was  launched  in  the  balloon,  and  reached  civilization  and  the 
public  in  the  manner  specified.  The  old  Robinson  Crusoe  was  a  bungler,  but 
this  modern  specimen  was  an  adept  in  all  mechanical  contrivance,  and  the 
young  reader  will  be  not  only  entertained,  but  instructed,  in  the  chapters. 
How  he  prepared  fresh  water,  how  he  made  gunpowder,  lucifer  matches, 
edged  tools,  built  houses  and  boats,  is  graphically  told  in  these  pages." 
—  Inter-Ocean. 
OUR    STANDARD-BEARER      Oliver  Optic's  Life  of  Gen. 

U.  S.  Grant    With  full-page  illustrations 

"  This  volume  is  specially  adapted  to  the  youth  of  the  country,  but  is 
equally,  if  not  more,  interesting  to  those  of  maturer  years.  It  is  just  such  a 
book  as  will  be  a  favorite  in  the  library  of  any  household,  be  that  library  large 
or  small.  It  gives  fine  entertainment  and  capital  instruction.  The  scenes 
and  incidents  of  the  great  general's  infancy,  childhood,  and  youth  are  told  in 
a  pleasant  way,  while  the  later  incidents  of  his  eventful  career  are  described 
with  a  faithful  and  graphic  pen." —  Keokuk  Democrat. 
LIVES    OF    THE     PRESIDENTS       From   Washington   to 

Cleveland    \yith  new  portraits. 

A  very  interesting  series  of  short  biographies  of  the  Presidents,  describing 
the  principal  events  of  each  administration  in  an  entertaining  and  readable 
manner,  giving  just  the  information  that  is  needed  to  convey,  in  brief,  the 
history  of  the  United  Slates,  and  affording  in  compact  form  a  ready  reference 
book  on  national  affairs. 

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informed  people,  whose  wit,  wisdom,  or  general  knowledge  is  generously 
bestowed  for  the  benefit  of  all,  this  collection  of  some  of  the  best  thoughts  of 
the  best  writers  on  religious,  scientific,  and  romantic  themes  will  be  found  ele- 
vating, instructive,  or  entertaining,  as  the  humor  of  the  reader  may  desire  or 
select.  All  the  authors  are  favorite  writers,  and  the  volumes  of  "  Good 
Company  "  their  best  productions. 

Modern  Classics,  in  neat  16mo  volumes,  good  type,  English  cloth  binding, 
60  cents  per  volume 

FIRESIDE     SAINTS       Mr.   Caudle's    Breakfast    Talk,  and 

Other  Papers     By  Douglas  Jerrold     357  pages 

"  It  will  be  diflficult  to  find  another  volume  in  the  language  which  will  sur- 
pass this  one  in  its  plenteous  harvest  of  jest  and  fancy,  tenderness  and  pathos, 
sound  sense  and  keen  satire." 

THE  WISHING-CAP  PAPERS     By  Leigh  Hunt    456  pages 
"  The  brilliant  and  varied  gifts  of  the  author  nowhere  appear  to  more  advan- 
tage than  in  these  papers." 

THE    LOVER      By  Richard  Steele 

"  Belongs  to  that  epoch  of  English  literature  which  was  richest  in  style,  and 
which  it  would  do  young  writers  great  good  to  study." 
DREAMTHORPE      By  Alexander  Smith 

"  A  volume  of  delightful  essays  which  are  replete  with  rare  gems  of  thought, 
and  sparkle  with  telling  anecdotes  and  other  illustrations." 
A    PHYSICIAN'S    PROBLEMS      By  Charles  Elam 

The  questions  here  presented  are  not  alone  interesting  to  the  professional, 
but  to  all  those  seeking  the  best  good  of  his  species. 

RELIGIOUS     PUTY       Teaching  of  Duty,   Offences,   FaulLs,  and 
Obligations  in  Religious  Life     By  Frances  Power  Cobbe 
A   thoughtftjl   and    uplifting   book,  simple   in   style,  fervent  in  sentiment, 

liberal  in  spirit,  and  worthy  the  earnest  attention  of  all  who  find  comfort  in 

religious  reflection. 

BROKEN     LIGHTS      An  Inquiry  into  the  Present  Condition  and 
Future  Prospects  of  Religious  Life      By  Frances  Power  Cobbe 
Wide   reading,  scholarly   taste,   and  deep  thought  are  made  manifest  on 

every  page,  and  the  spirit  in  which  the  book  is  written  is  broad  and  impartial. 

The  following,  among  other  volumes,  are  to  be  added  to  the  series  : 
THE    TRUE    STORY    OF    THE    EXODUS    Together 
WITH  A  Brief  View  of  Monumental  Egypt    By  Dr.  Henry  Brugsch 
Bey     Edited  by  F.  H.  Underwood,  LL.D. 

THE      STORY     OF     EVOLUTION       The    Development 
Theory    By  Joseph  Y.  and  Fanny  Bergen 

THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    MIRTH      With  Seven  Hundred 
and  Fifty  Appropriate  Anecdotes     By  B.  F.  Clark 

THE    GENTLEMAN      By  George  H.  Calvert 

THE    CHAPEL    OF    ST.    MARY'S      By  the  author  of  "  The 
Rectory  of  Moreland  " 

SIR    ROHAN'S    GHOST     By  Harriet  Prescott  Spofford 
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GERMANY    SEEN     WITHOUT     SPECTACLES;    or,   Random 
Sketches  of  Various  Subjects,  Penned  from  Different  Stand- 
points in  the  Empire 
By  Henry  Ruggles,  late  United  States  Consul  at  the  Island  of  Malta,  and 

at  Barcelona,  Spain.     $1.50. 

"  Mr.  Ruggles  writes  briskly:  he  chats  and  gossips,  slashing  right  and  left 
with  stout  American  prejudices,  and  has  made  withal  a  most  entertaining 
book.''  —  Nexv-York  Tribune. 

TRAVELS   AND  OBSERVATIONS   IN   THE  ORIENT,  with  » 
Hasty  Flight  in  the  Countries  of  Europe  ,■ 

By  Walter  Harriman  (ex-Governor  of  New  Hampshire).     $1.50. 

"  The  author,  m  his  graphic  description  of  these  sacred  localities,  refers 
with  great  aptness  to  scenes  and  personages  which  history  has  made  famous 
It  is  a  chatty  narrative  of  travel." —  Concord  Monitor. 
FORE  AND  AFT 
A  Story  of  Actual  Sea-Life.     By  Robert  B.  Dixon,  M.D.    $1.25. 

Travels  in  Mexico,  with  vivid  descriptions  of  manners  and  customs,  form  a 
large  part  of  this  striking  narrative  of  a  fourteen-months'  voyage. 
VOYAGE   OF  THE   PAPER  CANOE 
A  Geographical  Journey  of  Twenty-five  Hundred  Miles  from  Quebec  to  the 

Gulf  of  Mexico.      By  Nathaniel  H.  Bishop.     With  numerous  illustra- 
tions an<f  maps  specially  prepared  for  this  work.     Crown  8vo.     $1.50. 

"  Mr.   Bishop  did  a  very  bold  thing,  and  has    described  it  with  a  happy 
mixture  of  spirit,  keen  observation,  and  bonhomie."  —  London  Graphic. 
FOUR   MONTHS  IN   A    SNEAK-BOX 
A  Boat  Voyage  of  Twenty-six  Hundred  Miles  down  the  Ohio  and  Mississippi 

Rivers,  and  along  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.     By  Nathaniel  H.  Bishop.    With 

numerous  maps  and  illustrations.     $1.50. 

"His  glowing  pen-pictures  of  '  shanty-boat '  life    on    the   great  rivers  are 
true  to  life.     His  descriptions  of  persons  and  places  are  graphic."  —  Zion's 
Herald. 
A  THOUSAND   MILES'  WALK   ACROSS  SOUTH  AMERICA, 

Over  the  Pampas  and  the  Andes 
By  Nathaniel  H.  Bishop.     Crown  8vo.     New  edition.     Illustrated.     $i.5a 

"  Mr.  Bishop  made  this  journey  when  a  boy  of  sixteen,  has  never  forgotten 
it,  and  tells  it  in  such  a  way  that  the  reader  will  always  remember  it,  and 
wish  there  had  been  more." 
CAMPS   IN   THE    CARIBBEES 
Being  the  Adventures  of  a  Naturalist  Bird-hunting  in  the  West-India  Islands. 

By  Fred  A.  Oher.     New  edition.     With  maps  and  illustrations.     $1.50. 

"  During  two  years  he  visited  mountains,  forests,  and  people,  that  few,  if 
any,  tourists  had  ever  reached  before.     He  carried  his  camera  with  him,  and 
photographed  from  nature  the  scenes  by  which  the  book  is  illustrated."  — 
Louisville  Courier-Journal. 
ENGLAND    FROM     A    BACK     WINDOW;    With     Views    of 

Scotland  and  Ireland 
By  J.  M.  Bailey,  the  "  '  Danbury  News'  Man."    izmo.     $1.00. 

"  The  peculiar  humor  of  this  writer  is  well  known.  The  British  Isles  have 
never  before  been  looked  at  in  just  the  same  way,  —  at  least,  not  by  any  one 
who  has  notified  us  of  the  {zct.  Mr.  Bailey's  travels  possess,  accordingly,  a 
value  of  their  own  for  the  reader,  no  matter  how  many  previous  records  of 
journeys  in  the  mother  country  he  may  have  read." —  Rochester  Express. 


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A  WINTER  IN   CENTRAL   AMERICA   AND  MEXICO 

By  Helen  }   Sanborn.     Cloth,  $1.50. 
"  A  bright,  attractive  narrative  by  a  wide-awake  Boston  girl." 

A   SUMMER   IN   THE   AZORES,  with  a  Glimpse  of  Madeira 

By  Miss  C.  Alice  Baker.     Little  Classic  style.     Cloth,  gilt  edges.  $125, 
"  Miss  Baker  gives  us  a  breezy,  enteruining  description  of  iliese  picturesque 

islands.     She  is  an  obser%'ing  traveller,  and  makes  a  graphic  picture  of  the 

quaint  people  and  customs."  —  Chicago  Advatue. 

LIFE   AT   PUGET   SOUND 

With  sketches  of  travel  in  Washington  Territory,  British  Columbia,  Oregon, 
and  California.     By  Caroline  C.   Leighton.     i6mo,  cloth,  $1.50. 
"  Your  chapters  on  Puget  Sound  have  charmed  me.     Full  of  life,  deeply 

interesting,  and   with  just  that  class  of  facts,  and  suggestions  of  truth,  tha* 

cannot  fail  to  help  the  Indian  and  the  Chinese."  —  Wendell  Phillips. 

EUROPEAN    BREEZES 

By  Margery  Deane.      Cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.50.      Being  chapters  of  travel 
through  Germany,  .Austria,  Hungary,  and  Switzerland,  covering  places  not 
usually   visited  by  Americans  in  making  "  the  Grand  Tour  of  the  Conti- 
nent," by  the  accomplished  writer  of  "  Newport  Breezes." 
"  A  very  bright,  fresh   and  amusing  account,  which  tells  us  about  a  host  of 

things  we  never  heard  01  before,  and  is  worth  two  orduiary  books  of  European 

travel."  —  \Vot7tans  JoHrnal. 

BEATEN   PATHS;   or,  A  Woman's  Vacation  in  Europe 

By  Ella  W.  Tho.mpson      i6mo,  cloth.     $1  50. 
A  lively  and  chatty  book  of  travel,  with  pen-pictures  humorous  and  graphic, 

that  are  decidedly  out  of  the  "  beaten  paths  "  of  description. 

AN    AMERICAN    GIRL   ABROAD 

By   Miss   Adeline    Trafton,   author  of  "  His   Inheritance,"  "  Katherine 
Earle,"  etc.     i6mo.     Illustrated.     $1.50. 
"  A  sparkling  account  of  a  European  trip  by  a  wide-awake,  intelligent,  asid 

irrepressible  American  girl.     Pictured  with  a  freshness  and  vivacity  that  is 

delightful."  —  Utica  Observer 

CURTIS   GUILD'S   TRAVELS 
BRITONS  AND  MUSCOVITES;  or,  Traits  of  Two  Empires 

Cloth,  $2.00. 

OVER   THE  OCEAN;  or,  Sights  and  Scenes  in  Foreign  Lands 
By  Curtis  Guild,  editor  of  "  The  Boston  Commercial  Bulletin  '    Crown  8vo. 

Cloth,  $2.50. 

"  The  utmost  that  any  European  tourist  can  hope  to  do  is  to  tell  the  old 
story  in  a  somewhat  fresh  way,  and  .Mr.  Guild  has  succeeded  in  every  part  of 
his  book  in  doing  this."  —  Philadelphia  Bulletin. 
ABROAD  AGAIN ;  or,  Fresh  Forays  in  Foreign  Fields 
Uniform   with   "  Over   the   Ocean."      By   the   same    author       Crown  8vo. 

Cloth,  $2.50. 

"  He  has  given  us  a  life-picture.  Europe  is  done  in  a  style  that  must  serva 
as  an  invaluable  guide  to  those  who  go  '  over  the  ocean,'  as  well  as  an  inter- 
esting  companion."  —  Halifax  Citizen. 


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BOOKS  OF  Travel 

DRIFTING    ROUND    THE    WORLD;    A  Boy's   Adventures  by 

Sea  and  Land 
By  Capt.  Charles  W.  Hall,  author  of  "  Adrift  in  the  Ice-Fields,"  "  Th« 
Great  Bonanza,"  etc.     With  numerous  full-page  and  letter-press  illustra- 
tions.    Royal  Svo.     Handsome  cover.     $1.75-     Cloth,  gilt,  $2.50. 
"Out  of  the  beaten  track"  in  its  course  of  travel,  record  of  adventures, 
and  descriptions  of  life  in  Greenland,  Labrador,  Ireland,  Scotland,  England, 
France,  Holland,  Russia,  Asia,  Siberia,  and  Alaska.     Its  hero  is  young,  bold, 
and  adventurous ;  and  the  book  is  in  every  way  interesting  and  attractive. 

EDWAHD  GREEY'S  JAPANESE  SERIES 
YOUNG  AMERICANS   IN  JAPAN  ;   or,  The  Adventures  of  the 

Jewett  Family  and  their  Friend  Oto  Nambo 
With   170  full-page  and  letter-press  illustrations.     Royal  Svo,  7  x  9^  inches. 

Handsomely  illuminated  cover.     $1.75-     Cloth,  black  and  gold,  $2.50. 

This  story,  though  essentially  a  work  of  fiction,  is  filled  with  interesting  and 
truthful  descriptions  of  the  curious  ways  of  living  of  the  good  people  of  the 
land  of  the  rising  sun. 

THE    WONDERFUL    CITY    OF   TOKIO;   or,  The   Further  Ad- 
ventures of  the  Jewett  Family  and  their  Friend  Oto  Nambo 
With  169  illustrations.     Royal   Svo,  7x9^  inches.     With  cover  in  gold  and 

colors,  designed  by  the  author.     $1.75-     Cloth,  black  and  gold,  $2.50. 

"  A  book  full  of  delightful  information.  The  author  has  the  happy  gift  of 
permitting  the  reader  to  view  things  as  he  saw  them.  The  illustrations  are 
mostly  drawn  by  a  Japanese  artist,  and  are  very  unique."  —C/iica^o  Herald. 

THE  BEAR  WORSHIPPERS  OF  YEZO  AND  THE  ISLAND 
OF  KARAFUTO ;  being  the  further  Adventures  of  the 
Jewett  Family  and  their  Friend  Oto  Nambo 

180  illustrations.     Boards,  $1.75.     Cloth,  $2.50. 

Graphic  pen  and  pencil  pictures  of  the  remarkable  bearded  people  who  live 

in  the  north  of  Japan.     The  illustrations  are  by  native  Japanese  artists,  and 

give  queer  pictures  of  a  queer  people,  who  have  been  seldom  visited. 

HARRY   W,  FRENCHES  BOOKS 
OUR  BOYS  IN   INDIA 
The  wanderings  of  two  young  Americans  in  Hindustan,  with  their  exciting 

adventures  on  the  sacred  rivers  and  wild  mountains.    With  145  illustrations. 

Royal  Svo,  7  x  9^  inches.     Bound  in  emblematic  covers  of  Oriental  design, 

$1.75.     Cloth,  black  and  gold,  $2.50. 

While  it  has  all  the  exciting  interest  of  a  romance,  it  is  remarkably  vivid  in 
its  pictures  of  manners  and  customs  in  the  land  of  the  Hindu.  The  illustra- 
tions are  many  and  excellent. 

OUR   BOYS   IN   CHINA 

The  adventures  of  two  young  Americans,  wrecked  in  the  China  Sea  on  their 
return   from   India,  with   their   strange   wanderings   through   the   Chinese 
Empire.     188  illustrations.     Boards,  ornamental  covers  in  colors  and  gold, 
$1.75.     Cloth,  $2.50. 
This  gives  the  further  adventures  of"  Our  Boys"  of  India  fame  in  the  land 

of  Teas  and  Queues. 

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AEI  BOOKS 


THE    "PERPETUAL    PLEASURE"    SERIES 

"  The  sketches  are  such  as  the  most  famous  men  of  the  country  might 
be  proud  to  own.  They  are  original  strong,  and  impressiue,  even  the 
lightest  of  them ;  and  their  variety,  like  a  procession  of  Nature,  is  a 
perpetual  pleasure." 

A    BUNCH    OF   VIOLETS.     Original    illustrations,  engraved  on 
wood  and  printed  under  the  direction  of  George  T.  Andrew.     4to,  cloth, 
$3.75;  Turkey  morocco,  $9.00;  tree  calf,  $9.00;   English  seal  style,  $7.00. 
The  new  volume  is  akin  to  the  former  triumphs  of  this  favorite  artist,  whose 
"  Sketch  Books"  have  achieved  a  popularity  unequalled  in  the  history  of  fine 
art   publications.     In   the  profusion   of  designs,  originality,  and  delicacy  of 
treatment,    the   charming   sketches  of  mountain,    meadow,  lake,   and   forest 
scenery  of  New  England  here  reproduced  are  unexcelled.    After  the  wealth  of 
illustration  which  this  student  of  nature  has  poured  into  the  lap  of  art,  to  pro- 
duce a  volume  in  which  there  is  no  deterioration  of  power  or  beauty,  but,  if 
possible,  increased  strength  and  enlargement  of  ideas,  gives  assurance  that  the 
ijremost  female  artist  in  America  will  hold  the  hearts  of  her  legion  of  admirers. 

NATURE'S     HALLELUJAH.     Presented  in  a  series  of  nearly 
fifty  full-page  original  illustrations  (9'/^  x  14  inches),  engraved  on  wood  by 
George  T.  Andrew.     Elegantly  bound  in  gold  cloih,  full  gilt,  gilt  edges, 
$6.00;  Turkey  morocco,  $12.00;  tree  calf,  $12.00;  English  seal  style,  $10.00. 
This  volume  has  won  the  most  cordial  praise  on  both  sides  of  the  water. 
Mr.  Francis  H.  Underwood,  U.  S.  Consul  at  Glasgow,  writes  concerning  it: 
"  I  have  never  seen  anything  superior,  if  equal,  to  the  delicacy  and  finish  of 
the  engravings,  and  the  perfection  of  the  press-work.     The  copy  you  sent  me 
has  been  looked  over  with  evident  and  unfeigned  delight  by  many  people  of 
artistic  taste.     Every   one  frankly  says,   '  It  is  impossible  to  produce  such 
effects  here,'  and,  whether  it  is  possible  or  not,  I  am  sure  it  is  noi  done  ;  no 
such  effects  are  produced  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic.     In  this  combination  of 
art  and  workmanship,  the  United  States  leads  the  world;  and  you  have  a  right 
to  be  proud  of  the  honor  of  presenting  such  a  specimen  to  the  public" 
ONE    YEAR'S    SKETCH     BOOK.     Containing  forty-six  full- 
page  original  illustrations,  engraved  on  wood  by  Andrew;  in  same  bindings 
and  at  same  prices  as  "  Nature's  Hallelujah." 

"  Every  thick,  creamy  page  is  embellished  by  some  gems  of  art.  Sometimes 
it  is  but  a  dash  and  a  few  trembling  strokes;  at  others  an  impressive  landscape, 
but  in  all  and  through  all  runs  the  master  touch.  Miss  Jerome  has  the  genius 
of  an  Angelo,  and  the  execution  of  a  Guido.  The  beauty  of  the  sketches  will 
be  apparent  to  all,  having  been  taken  from  our  unrivalled  New  England 
scenery." —  IVashington  Chronicle. 
THE   MESSAGE  OF  THE   BLUEBIRD,  Told  to  Me 

to  Tell  to  Others.  Original  illustrations  engraved  on  wood  by 
Andrew.  Cloth  and  gold,  $2.00;  palatine  boards,  ribbon  ornaments,  $1.00. 
"  In  its  new  bindings  is  one  of  the  daintiest  combinations  of  song  and  illus- 
tration ever  published,  exhibiting  in  a  marked  degree  the  fine  poetic  taste  and 
wonderfully  artistic  touch  which  render  this  author's  works  so  popular.  Ihe 
pictures  are  exquisite,  and  the  verses  exceedingly  graceful,  appealing  to  the 
highest  sensibilities.  The  little  volume  ranks  among  the  choicest  of  holiday 
souvenirs,  and  is  beautiful  and  pleasing."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

Sold  by  all  boohsellers,  and  sent  by  mail,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  pric* 

J.v:p.  and  SHEPARD  Publishers  Boston 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 
249 


